Another Week

Peter, please, are you serious? You can't help out with them again this week? That is so frustrating for me. I need a break. I can't do this. 

I'm sorry. I have no choice. I can't help you. I wish I could. I know I made these mistakes and I have to live with that forever and I'm sorry they're affecting you like this but I don't know what else to do. I have to work.

This was a blip of the conversation we had tonight. Another week. Another week with no help. Another week of needing babysitters and putting kids to bed by myself and doing homework late at night and working.

He knew I was upset. I told him I am exhausted. He apologized and it felt real. I felt like he was genuinely sorry. But that didn't stop me from feeling anger toward him because had he not made the shitty decisions that he did, I wouldn't be going to work three days a week and doing bedtime on my own.

I started crying as soon as I handed the phone off to the kids so they could say goodnight to their dad. My son looked over at me and then announced to his dad that I was crying and I heard Peter ask him to hand the phone back to me but I refused to take it. He doesn't get to hear me cry. He doesn't get to hear an emotion that is extremely vulnerable for me.

An hour later, I'm still crying. I'm still trying to figure out what days I need babysitters this week and how I'm going to get through another exhausting week of work and school and motherhood. I'm trying to tell myself I can do this but I'm screaming on the inside for someone to rescue me.

I love my kids. I love them so much and I would do anything for them. I just feel so stretched thin that I don't feel like I can be the mother that they need. The deal with this divorce was that he HELPS with the kids and ever since he left for Utah and then came back, it doesn't seem like he's been helping enough. I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff and I'm trying to figure out what to do next.

Peter just sent me this text right now: I'm sorry. For many reasons, and I didn't mean to make you cry. I wish for nothing more than your forgiveness for everything I put you through.

And I haven't responded because I don't even know what to say.

I'm trying to forgive. I'm trying to let all of my pain go. But all I really want to do is run away. I want to run away to a place where divorce and pornography and fears don't exist.

I'm so tired tonight. I feel like I'm falling apart and I can't do this. I can't be divorced and keep going. I just can't. This isn't what I wanted my life to look like.

I'm torn between my anger toward Peter and my gratitude that he recognizes and took a little bit of responsibility for the actions he has chosen tonight.

I hate being so confused.

I told Peter I didn't sign up to raise two children on my own when I gave birth to them. I told him I didn't choose to be single and work and go to school and still have all of the same mothering responsibilities I had when we were married. I told him I am hanging on by a thread and that I need his help.

But nothing helped. It's not like he could've said he would take off work so that I could get a break.

I said what I wanted to say to him. I'm glad he understood me tonight. I'm glad he recognized that he has put me through hell and that I am trying to pick up a thousand broken pieces and that after a year, I still have about 950 pieces to go.

But none of that changes the fact that I'm exhausted and stressed out and I just want this to be over.

Fears and Being Vulnerable

I feel like I utilize this saying in almost every area of my life, mostly because fear is usually right beside me while I do anything and everything.

It's hard to allow fear to be a part of my life without letting it consume me. I try to accept that I have fears but I haven't figured out how to let go of my fears.

This post is hard and vulnerable for me and I'm shaking while I write it because it isn't a post I'd like to discuss. I'm ok with talking about fears---OCD fears, fear of death, fear of the future---but my deepest, biggest fear keeps coming into my mind these past few weeks as I've been spending time with a boy. A boy that I might have a crush on. A boy that might be the first boy I could see myself trusting. A boy that hardly knows I exist. Dating is stupid...

But everytime I think about him or am around him, I feel it.

The fear that I'm not loveable.

The fear that a person could not physically love me.

Because I am not skinny enough or pretty enough and my teeth are crooked and I have a double chin and my stomach is all sorts if ugly and I have stretch marks. I just can't imagine someone picking me when they could pick someone better.

I spend my days with girls prettier than me who have flatter stomachs and better smiles. I try to tell myself that my personality will make up for my lack of physical beauty but it won't. There are pretty girls with great personalities.

And boys like pretty girls.

I keep having this reoccuring dream that isn't actually a dream but more of a daydream. It'll happen sometimes when I'm driving or when I'm laying in bed or even when I'm at work. I'll picture myself being intimate with a man and most times, the daydream ends with him sizing me up and choosing to leave instead. Each time I feel it, the pain in my heart is physical and gut-wrenching. I start to get anxiety. I overanalyze everything I'm doing. And I consider that someday, this could happen. It doesn't matter that it hasn't happened---I still feel like it has. I don't know if my heart could've broken anymore had Peter walked out on me in the middle of sex. Because I just don't know if it's possible to hurt more than my heart has been hurt.

Because intimacy is such a vulnerable activity for me and the ONE person I've ever had sex with left me.

He left me.

And even when he was with me and complaining that we didn't have sex enough or that we should be more adventurous (whatever the hell that means), he was viewing pornography. I wasn't enough. I don't give a damn whether his brain was broken---I still wasn't enough.

And I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not being enough.

A thousand people can tell me it had nothing to do with me but I'm sorry---it did. Whether it had to do with me not being sexually pleasing or whether it had to do with me not being a trusting enough wife that my husband could talk to me about his addiction, I wasn't enough.

And now I just don't know if I have it in me to do this all over again because the pain of rejection gives me a severe amount anxiety. The pain of rejection is something I fear more than anything else in the world.

My eating disorder feeds lies into my head and tells me I'll never be good enough and guess what? I think she's right. I think that although I can focus on the happiness of motherhood and the great friendships I have, I just won't ever be able to heal from the trauma of being rejected.

Doing this all over again, this time with a ruined body, just seems too much. I look at the guys I'm attracted to and think, they would reject me in a second. I'm not good enough for them.

And what if that's really true? What if I'm not good enough? What if I ask someone on a date and they say no because they aren't attracted to me? What if I never get asked out on a date because of how unattractive I am? What if I am never loved like that again?

That last question pisses me off just thinking about. Because what the hell does "loved like that again" mean when I wasn't loved enough the first time around? Why do I look at my marriage and see so much happiness when I think about the physical intimacy between Peter and myself? It makes me feel stupid and horrible for even having memories like that. Because he was probably looking at me the whole time and wondering why the EFF he was with me when he could go look at skinny porn stars instead. He was probably thinking about other women while he was having sex with me.

My heart hurts from writing this out because I don't want to acknowledge it. I don't want it to be real. I want to be strong Wendy, the girl who fights and is brave and loves herself. But instead I'm codependent Wendy, the girl who fears ever being loved.

In a perfect world, men would look for a wife who had a great personality but especially now with the effects of pornography, I think men want a wife who is gorgeous and as close to perfect as possible.

And I am not that. I don't think I can be that.

So now I have to choose whether I'm going to swear off men forever so I don't have to think about the pain of rejection or whether I'm going to be brave and fight for myself.

I can't think about this any longer tonight. I can't feel this way and feel vulnerable because I feel so freaking unsafe! I don't want to push "publish"...which is exactly why I'm going to push it. Because this is me practicing vulnerability. It's the best I can muster right now so if it doesn't seem like much, sorry.

Exhaustion

I want this fog to be lifted. I need it to be lifted. Because right now, I just don't think I can do it all---but there just isn't anything I can weed out of my life. I have to do it all. I don't have a choice.

My counselor had to ask me if I was suicidal on Thursday and for some reason, it just hit me hard. I know I'm not. I'm glad she trusts me that I'm not. But the dark feelings that engulf me seem to sound that way.

I told her I wanted to give up, that I was done living this life. And the thing is, I don't quite know what I mean when I say that. I certainly don't mean taking my life but I also don't mean nothing---I guess I mean that I want this to stop being the life I live. I want it to start getting better.

I want the constant exhaustion to go away. I want to be able to provide and take care of my children without being so tired that I can't be a good mother to them at the end of the day. I want companionship and love and trust in my home so I'm not doing this all on my own.

My eyes are bloodshot and I had a migraine that almost caused me to vomit today. It was horrible. It was a sign of anxiety. I went through the motions at church but I didn't want to be there. Every week, I struggle to get up and take my kids. It is only through my testimony that we get there because physically and emotionally, all I want to do is stay home. I don't like being at church. I don't feel anything right now when I'm there. I'd rather sleep or do homework or spend time with my kids. But we still go because I still have a testimony that it is the right thing to do---I just wish that made it easier.

I was feeling really excited that this week, Peter's new job would allow him to take our kids three days out of the week...until he called to inform me that due to training, he actually couldn't take them at all. At all. I wanted to cry. I want to cry. I feel so overwhelmed and I just don't feel like I can make it through another week. But I will. I'll do it because my kids need me to.

I don't know how I'll do it but I will. I'll try not to worry about the dishes in the sink or the smell of mildew coming from the washer full of clothes I put through five days ago. I'll try not to worry about the fact that my six year old makes herself breakfast and packs her own lunch while I struggle to get out of bed each morning. I'll try not to worry about the amount of tv my children watch while I do homework or lay on the couch after a long day of working or being at school. I'm trying to remind myself that I'm still good enough, even though I feel like I'm failing at every single thing in my life.

It isn't always going to be this hard.

Right?

I Am More Than Just Wendy

I feel so broken and yet stronger than I have in days. I'm hurt by Peter but I also feel so much gratitude for the real person he is. Not the addict---the guy I married seven years ago. Sometimes he is still there.

Sometimes it's hard to compare the two and realize that I put a lot of my heart into loving a man who didn't reciprocate that love back to me. It's painful for me to think about.

I loved a man that preferred porn stars over my real body. I don't get that. I am reality. I am real love. I am real happiness. Pornography is not.

Peter was over today for almost four hours. Four hours. That is the longest I've been in the same room as Peter in months. I needed my garbage disposal fixed and I asked him to do it. Was I thinking clearly? I honestly don't know. I don't know if Peter was confused or happy or annoyed or excited. I really don't know.

I do know that he fixed my garbage disposal and that I paid him by buying dinner for our family. I do know that he helped put the kids to bed and we talked about his new job and how that changes our parenting plan a lot a lot a lot a lot a lot. And I'm nervous about those changes because I no longer have free weekends and Peter is now responsible for a few school days with the kids and I'm overbearing and feel like I should take charge and now I'm having to release some extra reponsibility to Peter.

Sigh...it's ok, Wendy. He can handle it. You can let go.

It's just really hard for me to let go. It's hard for me to be a working mom and a full time student and still have time and patience for my children. It's hard to think that I probably won't get married for years and years or ever because I'm just so damn busy right now. And the thing is, I want to get married again. I don't care how traumatic my marriage was---I fully believe marriage can be beautiful and wonderful. Maybe that's stupidity but it's all the hope I can muster right now.

I feel like I'm drowning in this new life. My anxiety has been at an all time high, especially today. I sat in the school pick-up line and had to talk myself through a panic attack---an attack that came on for no apparent reason. And tonight I'm still feeling that panic and fear and I don't understand why it's happening. I wasn't even thinking about anything specific when it started happening.

Eff you, anxiety. You stupid dumb piece of crap.

It's hard to be this exhausted but to feel like this is your first time to really have a break. After the kids were in bed and Peter left, I spent two hours doing homework and I craved being here. I craved writing and doing something that helps me sort through things. But it had to wait until my homework was done. And now it's 11:00pm and I'm exhausted and I still need to shower but I'm here.

I'm drowning and I'm here.

I'm here because I need this. I need this safe place to write about my thoughts and my fears. When I talk to friends or am sitting on that couch across from my counselor, I have a hard time putting my thoughts into sentences but here...here everything flows more naturally. I feel a release when I come here. I feel like I'm making sense.

My counselor and I have been working on the fact that I have different parts of me. I refer to the negative, fearful part as Wendy, mostly because when I come here, I often feel like I am her. And I refer to the loving, compassionate part of myself as my real name. There are other parts and sometimes my brain hurts from trying to remember what that all means and how it applies but I do know that I want to be me. I don't want to be Wendy.

I want the real me to merge with Wendy and teach her how to trust herself and love herself. I want this battle to be over. Wendy isn't evil but she doesn't know any better.

Wendy has an eating disorder. She grew up thinking she wasn't very important and because of that, she craves being important to other people. She craves attention because she was sandwiched between talented siblings and special needs siblings, all who seemed to get more attention than her. Wendy has so many fears, one of the biggest is being unloved. She has a hard time really trusting that people can love her because she has a hard time loving herself.

Wendy is me but I'm glad she isn't all of me. I'm glad my counselor pointed out that I am more than her. It is possible to be Wendy and to still be the compassionate, brave warrior that I often am.

And tonight, I keep repeating that over and over again in my mind because I need to hold on to that. I need to be remined that Wendy is me but that I am also the me I want to be. I am a good, loving person. Even though I think I fail a lot, I still succeed too.

Tonight as I layed with my crying daughter who was sad that her dad had to leave at bedtime, I was reminded that I am not always a horrible mother. Sometimes I am the best mother my kids can have. Tonight I was everything my daughter needed.

Tonight for a few minutes, I won a battle. And since that is more battles than I've won in days, I am going to celebrate my one small victory and try to go to bed without saying negative things about myself.

I Fail

I come here when it gets hard. And it keeps getting really hard.

I've had some of my worst days and that just isn't fair. My eating disorder days were supposed to be my worst. My husband leaving me was supposed to be my worst day. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

But my crying has become a broken record. It keeps happening. Damnit, it keeps happening!

My brain feels hazy, like it would if I were on drugs---but I'm not---and I wish I was. I wish I wasn't hurting so badly for no apparent reason. I wish I wasn't a horrible mother. I wish I wouldn't say mean things to my kids. I don't deserve them and today proved that they would probably be better off being raised by someone else---someone more patient, someone less broken.

I know I take on too much responsibility. I know I "can't do it all". Everyone tries to remind me of this. But when I say no to people, I become more of a failure. I'm so worried people won't like me if I don't help them. I'm so worried people will abandon me if I don't bend over backwards and put a brave face on every single day.

They'd get sick of me. They are getting sick of me. No one likes to be around negativity and right now, that seems to be all that I am. Who am I, really? Because Wendy isn't strong or brave or nice or compassionate.

I'm not really worth anyone's time. I know the real me---and you don't---so if you like me, you probably just haven't gotten to know me well enough. Because the real me is full of flaws and full of failures and she gets afraid and mean sometimes. She says really dumb things a lot. She goes too far with jokes and sarcasm. She isn't good.

I don't trust anyone---and even just that little fact makes me even more rude. How rude that I can't trust people who have born their souls to me? How can I not trust people who confide in me about some of life's most sensitive subjects? So by not trusting, I'm failing. I'm failing by not being strong enough to trust the people around me who have proven they are trustworthy.

I barely got through today and unfortunately, it isn't over yet. If my kids weren't with me, I'd probably highly consider drinking because I am not strong enough to succeed tonight.

I was exhausted at work and I kept nodding off in my office. And then the headache started. And then I got back to my kids and they were crazy and rude and all over the place. I told my friend I don't like kids today---and I probably shouldn't be their mom. How can someone so unworthy be a mother to two of life's most precious gifts? I'm not good enough for them. They'll realize it someday.

I was impatient all afternoon. My four year old and I butted heads. A friend came to give me a break before I literally snapped and my son said to her, "I'm coming to your house because my mom and I are being mean to each other today. She said she never wants to speak to me again." And he was telling her the truth. I did say that. And I hate that I said that. I hate how much I failed as his mother today. I hate that he could potentially remember today for the rest of his life. I hate who I am today.

My house is a mess and I can't keep up with this life. But if I accept help, I'm a failure. Lots of single moms have jobs, go to school, raise their children successfully, and keep their damn house clean. I'm just not good enough at all of those things so something always falls through the cracks.

Today two of those things fell through the cracks as I released my impatience onto my children.

I failed at being the kind of person I want to believe that I am.

And because of that, I hate myself today.

Emotional Emotionless

Counseling was horrible today.
I was so incredibly stupid today.
Just one thing after another---I was beyond agitated.
Not with my counselor but with myself.
I couldn't spit my words out. I couldn't feel my emotions. I was obsessing over what my hands were doing and how even everything felt. OCD was horrible.

I seriously felt more stupid than I've felt in a long time. I was so angry with myself. I can't remember if I apologized but I feel like I just wasted an hour of both of our lives because I just couldn't work.

I think it might have had to do with the fact that the past few weeks of counseling have been overly incredible and I've worked so hard to be brave---have I mentioned I didn't like it? I know, confusing... I was so uncomfortable but each session, I left feeling like I had accomplished something great. I felt myself understanding the different parts of me a little bit better.

But I went into counseling today with a lot of fear that I had placed on myself to be more open and have more emotion. I told myself I would open up however much I needed to. And I think in doing so, I psyched myself out and just acted stupid the whole time.

So then I was mad.

I was a weak Wendy today. I tore myself down and was so incredibly hard on myself and I just couldn't imagine a world where I don't feel like this. How is that possible?

And tonight I broke down at my meeting. I was feeling so happy to be back among my support group and all of a sudden, a friend I've known literally since birth walked in the door.

No.

Hell no.

This stupid ass addiction has affected way too many people in my life.

For some reason, I just couldn't handle it. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and just run away to a world where pornography does not exist.

This isn't fair!!!

I cried the entire time she was speaking. I cried a little bit while spilling a few of my thoughts. I cried even harder during the closing prayer and I gave her a huge hug when it was all over.

You guys, I don't cry in front of people. I am so out of touch with my emotions these days. But I just could not hold it in tonight.

I hated pornography more than ever before. I hated what it was doing to some really incredible people that I know. I am just so angry about this.

But among the crying and my aching heart for my wonderful friend, I saw a small glimpse of a positive attitude toward myself. For a few seconds, I thought, "Good for you for caring so much about her, enough to cry in front of people. You are compassionate, Wendy. You have goodness."

It didn't last very long but it was there for a minute.

You have goodness, Wendy.

You are filled with so much light and only a little bit of dark---so stop focusing on the dark.

I want to be that girl. I want to love myself. I want to give myself a break.

I just don't know how.

OCD: Comfort and Anxiety

When I was little, I thought it was normal to count the number of letters in a word and divide it equally in half, cutting the middle letter into two if the number of letters were odd.
I thought it was normal to make sure I stepped an equal amount of times in between each crack in the sidewalk and that if I stepped on a crack, my other foot had to step on the next crack with the exact same footing and pressure as the previous foot had.
I thought it was normal to have fears of body parts---for me, feet. I've been afraid of feet ever since I can remember.

I never spent much time thinking about these little obsessions because they were just little. They didn't hold my life back and they didn't slow me down. They have always been a part of me.

In high school, I realized how much I obsessed over eating things in even numbers and I would spend a lot of time eating my cereal, making sure each bite contained an even number of pieces. Then I would chew an equal amount on each side of my mouth.

I still didn't care though. By this point, I had recognized this was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder but it was just a part of me and everyone in my family had it to some degree. We would laugh about it often and I never told anyone about the anxiety I would feel that seemed to be associated with my OCD.

Peter noticed my OCD right off the bat. I mean, you can't have a fear of feet without your spouse finding out. It just doesn't work that way. Peter knew touching me with his feet would cause me to freak out, often times needing an extra shower or to change my clothes if it happened in certain areas of my body. Close to my hands and face were the biggest trigger areas for me.

Peter knew I had to eat even numbers of things and that I seemed to walk like a drunk person because of my obsession with the cracks in the sidewalk. He knew I counted the dashes and light poles along each street and matched them in pairs so they would stay even. He knew I would often rewrite words on a piece of paper because I didn't use equal amounts of pressure with the pen.

And he hated it.

I think he may have hated it more than I did.

Sure, it was annoying a few times but it was just my quirky way of doing things. I liked the way my OCD felt because it was safe.

During times of trauma, it becomes worse. When things are feeling stable, it seems to just lurk in the background and only controls my life to a certain degree.

Only controls my life to a certain degree... That phrase just feels so weird. And if you don't have OCD, you might not understand what that feels like to me.

A few years ago, when we had just started marriage counseling, Pan had brought up my OCD to our counselor---most likely in an effort to get the attention off of him for a second. I was really frustrated with him for doing so because I AM FINE! And although I still think his reasonings are stupid for why he did that, I am kinda sorta grateful he brought it up. Because I just don't know if I would've ever told my counselor about it.

Because honestly, I don't always notice it.

It's just the way I am.

But we began a discussion in counseling on how OCD can get worse after traumatic events. I actually looked up episodes of Obsessed on Netflix and watched them, shaking my head at these crazy people who did these crazy things for really crazy reasons. I couldn't be grouped in that same category, could I?

The answer is yes, I could. I am. To an extent, that is.

I don't recount the number of tiles in my kitchen to see if the number has changed from the last time. I don't have fears that the floor underneath me will break. I don't keep my kids inside all day every day in fear of the germs in our society. My house isn't obsessively cleaned each and every day.

But I do wash my hands a lot all of a sudden. And I freak out if they start to feel dirty almost instantly. And yesterday, my son licked my daughter's foot and I was in the fetal position on the couch, trying not to vomit from the sheer terror I felt. And if I itch my face on one side, I cannot focus on anything else until I itch the other side an equal number of times with an equal amount of pressure.

And I cannot, CANNOT handle the radio/tv volume being on an odd number. I don't care if I'm at my own house or if I'm at yours. I will make you change it up or down a notch. I will panic until you do so. And the second it is changed, my anxiety will release and I will feel safe again.

This is real life. This is my life. I'm starting to hate it. I'm still really loving it.

It is comfort and anxiety---a package deal that seems so very similiar to my eating disorder.

Comfort and anxiety. You didn't think those two things could coexist, did you?

Well, they can. And for me, they do.

I just don't want help because I fear it. I fear every second I let myself speak of the vulnerable things in my life. I fear the insecurities about how psychotic I am and how unstable this all makes me feel. My OCD is hard to talk about because it really does make me seem bat shit crazy. I'd think that about me if I were you.

This stuff seems ridiculous. But sadly, it's real. And it's my life.

I haven't even fully covered all of my OCD triggers and tendencies. Sadly, this isn't where it ends. This is just a peek into my crazy mind.

Please try to believe me when I tell you I'm not this unstable all of the time. As anxious as I get, I am still a functioning adult and you probably wouldn't know that I had OCD if you met me on the street.

Unless you touch me with your feet. You sure as hell would see my OCD if you ever touch me with your feet. And please oh please oh please, if you know me and are reading this, don't touch me with your feet to be funny. I might laugh---but inside I'll be screaming. And I'm serious about that.

But Wendy Isn't Brave

Sometimes divorce hits me like a dark cloud.

It's been over 6 months since I received those final papers in the mail but some days, it just hits me all over again and I think,
"Really? This is my life?!"

And it is my life. I can't escape this awesome hell I've been thrown into.

It's 11pm. I was laying in bed an hour ago when I realized I had some online homework due by midnight and an hour later, I find myself at my blog, not sure what I'm releasing tonight but feeling drawn to this page and the safety I feel here.

My trip went well. As nervous as I was, Peter wasn't as much of a jackass as he is capable of being. When he dropped the kids off, he actually said how he feels like he is just coming to grips with how hard divorce is while I seem to be moving on and bettering my life.

The biggest part of me wanted to smile and say, "HELL TO THE YEAH, I'm moving on without you!!!". But there was that scared little girl that reminded me, "Wendy, you haven't acted on your eating disorder in days. You know you're gaining weight. You know you're not good enough for anyone. You were barely good enough for an ass hole like Peter. Don't kid yourself."

And although tonight I still haven't acted on my eating disorder, I don't feel good about it. I feel like a worthless piece of shit who was abandoned by her eternal partner. I feel like all of the good things I see aren't good because I am stupid and stupid people are undeserving of all things good.

I want to act out. I want to be the girl with the eating disorder who everyone compliments because she is losing weight and looking skinnier. I want to be the girl who releases stress at the gym instead of the girl who has been way too busy to get to the gym at all in the past few weeks.

But I don't want to be the unstable girl with the addiction. And that means I need to make this really hard decision to continue on a path toward punching Ed in the face and believing he is the liar that he is.

It is a really hard decision. I don't want to make this decision. I don't feel like I'm capable of doing it. And even if I am capable, I don't want to do it. Because I don't have any other security blankets around my broken heart. All I have is my obsession with weight and my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder which is stupidly out of control. The second I give those up, I feel a hell of a lot more vulnerable.

And OH MY HELL, I hate Hate HATE being vulnerable!!!

This life I live, although it holds some very rewarding and wonderful things, is really hard. It is messy and hard and I don't always feel up to the challenge of fighting against it. A lot of times, I just want to give up and throw the effing towel as far away as I can.

Because although tonight I sarcastically told Peter that divorce has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, that isn't true. He knows it. I know it. Our kids sure as hell know it. But we are all a part of this big huge mess that is a result of a lot of stupidity and really shitty decisions. We are all hurting and confused and tonight, I want to forget it all. I want this mess erased from my mind. I want someone to EMDR the hell out of my brain and take away this psychotic pain that I DON'T LIKE FEELING. But I doubt that's how it works.

I'm fearful that healing will take so much of my vulnerability and emotional capabilities and I'm just not sure I have that in me. I'm not sure I can become the person who is healthy enough to heal. I'm not sure I can open up to anyone---not even my counselor of TWO YEARS---and show people how much this hurts and how scared I am.

I'd rather just act tough and sarcastic and brave. I'd rather people believe the liar inside of me that thinks I'm just fine right now. It seems easier and less scary.

I can't be the amazing person everyone thinks that I am. I don't know how to believe that I'm actually her.

I am Wendy today and Wendy isn't brave.

Say Something

For years and years, I was screaming on the inside, "SAY SOMETHING, PETER! SOMETHING! ANYTHING! Tell me how you REALLY feel. Tell me what you want me to do!" as he made decisions that ultimately destroyed our marriage.

I didn't always understand those inner thoughts. I wondered why I was such a controlling, paranoid wife, thinking my husband was lying all the time when he promised he wasn't.

And when Peter left me and A Great Big World came out with the song, Say Something, every word spoke true to the things I was feeling.

"You're the one that I love and I'm saying goodbye. Say something, I'm giving up on you!"

The very first time I heard that song, I was a few weeks out from d-day and I wasn't sure what was going to happen. That song came on the radio and I started to cry as each word came closer and closer to the pain in my heart.

A few days later, my sister called and said, "Wendy! Have you heard the new song Say Something? I was bawling in the car thinking about your heartache right now and I felt like you could've been singing every single one of those words." And she was right. Every word was my story.

"Anywhere I would've followed you. Say something, I'm giving up on you!"

After years of wanting him to say how he feels to me and getting nothing in return, I wasn't sure how divorce would change that. I wasn't sure about the levels of communication and how we would both deal with the new boundaries that had to be set.

And at first, it was a mess. I tried to let Peter be a part of our family, even though we had filed for divorce. We went on hikes, we watched movies late at night...and one night, we had sex. There are days I'm still in disbelief about that because it was all so...awkward...and I felt like a whore. So it was after that night that I knew I needed changes for the safety of my heart.

Boundaries.

I started reading the book Boundaries that was recommended to me by my eating disorder therapist. I recognized some traits in the beginning of the book that were DEFINITELY me.

I was so sick of fighting that I decided to allow Peter back into my life more than was healthy for ME. I was making those decisions for the well being of our children and for his well being but in the process, I ended up more confused and hurt.

Ever since I talked to Peter about the boundaries I needed to set, there has been a frustration about him that I didn't fully understand. I knew he had changed when he left me. He seemed darker and less of the man I had married. But this was different. Peter was angry at me for taking away his kids and his opportunity to have the best of both worlds.

His anger has changed him into someone I don't recognize.

Tonight, Peter told me he wouldn't be able to contribute to our son's preschool bill for a month or two and I started to walk away in frustration and he exclaimed, "Calm the fuck down, Wendy!"

In front of my four year old.

Oh hell no.

My anger was at a boiling point but there was nothing I could do because I am about to head out of town and Peter has the kids by himself for four days.

On top of that, I started working this week and school started two weeks ago. I am now leaving that precious four year old FIVE days a week.

This is just a mess. All of the shit going on is a mess. I feel so much guilt and shame. I feel so much weight on me to be this perfect mother and this perfect friend and this perfect daughter and I JUST CAN'T DO IT! I cannot please everyone. But that won't stop me from trying.

Last night, I had a melt down. Like a scream-into-my-pillow-yelling-swear-words melt down. And I wrote in my journal how sometimes I feel like dying would be easier than all of this.

And that is the damn truth. I cannot even tell you how often in the past year I've layed in bed shaking from the fear of being responsible for two little children and myself all on my own. There isn't anything to describe what this feels like to me. It is just a whole bunch of hell and the responsibility feels like it's too much sometimes.

I couldn't even tell my counselor today how I wrote that sentence in my journal because even THINKING about dying makes me feel shame...because I would never truthfully kill myself or even want to die and ruin my children's lives more.

But when I get so buried in fear and shame, I can't think of anything else that would release my pain.

Please tell me this gets better. Tell me I will find hope and that I won't always hate myself and that I will be able to afford to take care of my kids on my own and that I will stop feeling so anxious about life.
Please?

Because I just can't keep having break downs and feeling so scared for the future. I can't keep doubting myself and wondering if things will ever get better.

I just can't.

But I'm so afraid to feel and give emotion to my pain because I don't believe it will ever go away if I let it out. I feel like being strong and COURAGEOUS means to keep myself in check at all times and never let my emotions run free. I cry sometimes but ONLY when I'm alone and I always shame myself for being weak and out of control.

I'm so afraid of what my pain really feels like.


Since music is therapy, I recorded Say Something for you tonight. And with that, I am off on an adventure with my friends for four days. Please pray that my kids won't miss me too much and that I'll be able to relax and trust that they're in good hands.