Dear Ex-Husband

1.1.20

Dear Ex-Husband,

I doubt you’ll ever read this, but this isn’t for you. I thought I’d write as I enter a new decade. As I will see our son turn 21 years old this year. As I will celebrate with him, just as I have with his high school graduation, learning to drive, first job, taking pride in his physical and emotional strides. He boxes now. Did you know that? No, of course you don’t. He’s a runner. And a good one. And he is an amazing photographer and editor. More so, he’s just a person people want to know – handsome, charming, kind and funny.

I’ve said it many times and will say it until the end, the only good thing you’ve ever done is help give life to two beautiful children. I’m glad they are close and have one another, even though you have nothing to do with your son. I will never understand that. Unfortunately, that is my son’s burden to bear, though I hope he doesn’t carry too heavy of a load regarding your absence because he has had a stepfather who is wonderful to him, and he knows you only would’ve made his life worse. Though, knowing and feeling a thing are two entirely different matters sometimes, but all I can do is be there for my son for as long as I’m here on this earth. Because that is what being a true parent is. And heaven knows, the little you were in his life harmed him considerably.

You might wonder why I’m writing now. Well, I actually saw a film earlier today, and there was a scene that made me think of you. A simple scene, but sad. True. A young woman was trying to excuse her boyfriend of four years for forgetting her birthday. She said it was her fault for forgetting to remind him ahead of time. And I realized I used to have to do the very same thing. Remind you of upcoming Valentine’s dates, anniversaries, birthdays… I immediately reminded myself that those are decades old memories, and just that, memories. I don’t have to live with you anymore. Suffer at your hands. Endure you anymore.

Do you remember when you announced you wanted a divorce, and I begged, pleaded, and fought for almost a year for us to stay together? It wasn’t because I wanted to be with you. It was because I knew that without me there to protect our son, you would hurt him. And that you did. And that you allowed. But he is healing.

As for me individually, I never had the chance to say what I really wanted to say, because even divorced, I had to be careful for my child’s sake. What I wanted to say was that I was finally free. That I felt lighter. Safer. As if I might have a chance to be happy in life, thereafter.

You were abysmal from the beginning, but I was in no state of mind to see the truth. You knew what was going on with me; my circumstances, and boy did you come prepared to take advantage.

I want to say, all those times you cheated, like from the beginning, I knew. You didn’t “pull one over on me.” Did I actually know certain dates, certain women? No. But in my core, did I know? Yes. You became upset when I started gaining weight. I was “eating my feelings,” as they call it these days. Because something inside of me knew who and what you were. Are.

I want you to know that when you were furious I wouldn’t go to your friends’ parties and get-togethers, and I said it’s because I wasn’t feeling up to it, that was only partly true. I did not feel up to it, that’s for sure. It was exhausting pretending I loved you… pretending I liked you. But it was also because I knew how much you would drink and how you would insist on driving home anyway, drunk as you were.

Remember when you graduated from Basic Training when you joined the Army, and I was incredibly late? You were mad at first, just fuming, but our son was an infant, and so I explained I had to pull over for much longer than expected during our drive from Texas to Missouri. Then, you decided that was reasonable, and I was excused. Truth is, he was a sweet little baby who slept almost the entire way. Truth is, I didn’t want to be at your graduation ceremony. I didn’t want to see you.

You were such an awful boyfriend, husband, person… can you truly be surprised by any of this?

Do you remember when I began working part time to “earn extra money to help out?” I just wanted to get away from you.

Do you remember when your second (what are you, on number three or four now… I forget) wife insisted there was no way our son could actually be yours because he didn’t look like you? Do you know how I prayed you would listen to her and leave the both of us alone? But you didn’t. You actually took a paternity test. What would you have done had it come back as negative? Just stop loving him?

Do you remember when I was almost 30 minutes late walking down the aisle at our wedding. I sat there unable to move, trying to decide if my nails looked okay, listening to inner dialogue. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it. It’s not too late. Don’t do it.” But when my best friend came to get me, even though I wish I would’ve confided in her, I stood up and smiled and said I was ready to go. I wasn’t ready to go. That dress weighed a thousand pounds. That veil did not provide cover or protection.

Now, though. Now, I’m ready to finally say goodbye. Those horrible memories, horrible times, horrible days, horrible hours, horrible minutes… they no longer haunt me. Because Ex-Husband, my life and my memories, just like this letter, are not for you. They are for me.

Share in September

September is Suicide Prevention Month

In the coming days, I’m going to share my struggle with suicidal ideation and near-attempts.

Please, this month, and any month for that matter, share your story. It will help you, and it will help others.

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It is imperative we remember we are not alone. ✌

The Struggle Is Blah Blah Blah

8.26.18

Still struggling… with moments of being okay. I’m aiming for contentment. Almost there. Just flying high and plunging way too low, way too quick, back to back. Tired… and the physical pain – forget about it.

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(Photo credit nerdist.com)

Feeling defeated at times. Still know I’ll be okay. Thank God I’ve not lost the plot 100% and that I know that deep inside somewhere.

How are you, friends? Take care of yourselves and each other. Let us know here if you need help. 💛🙏✌

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The Wall

I’ve not given up writing or on the blog. I’m just so tired from being in so much physical pain. It is absolutely essential I do the best I can to keep my mental and emotional health in check.

Sometimes, writing and sharing feel overwhelming. So, my only choice just now is to share that bit with you.

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(Image credit Dax Fit Life.)

How are you guys doing? What do you do when you hit this wall?

Take care of yourselves and each other. ✌🙏💛

Hey Houston

Hey, Houston ~ 8.13.18

I’ve had a few steroid injections as of late, and as ever, troubles followed.

“Houston, We Have a Problem.”

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Not sleeping. Acting out of character. Not paying enough attention to finances.

At least so far it’s been a “giddy” euphoric mania, not dysphoric and rageful.

Only good thing is that I’ve been a lot more artistic, especially with writing. Those things tend to become dulled for those of us with this disease and the taking of mood stabilizers.

I can’t let it go on too much longer or become more intense. If that happens, I could easily be introduced to a behavioral hospital in San Antonio for the first time. I’d prefer not. Sigh.

At least, I recognize it. I’ve got family and friends helping me keep in check. It’s a trade-off. No steroid injections, the more intense the physical pain.

I could say the dilemma is unfair as hell, but I digress. Others are going through worse, and I knew this was a gamble. Still sucks, though.

Gamble-Responsibly

Take care of yourselves and others, guys. ✌💛🙏

On Top to Crushed

On Top to Crushed ~ 7.25.18

It’s as simple as this. A month or two ago, I was on top of the world. Now, I feel crushed by it.

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My bones are becoming dust, and soon I’ll blow away with a heavy storm.

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In keeping true to what I set out to do with this blog, I occasionally add photos conveying mood. Here’s today…and the last couple of weeks.

RESET DAYS

RESET DAYS ~ 4.4.18

Here’s a thing. Well, here are a few things.

There are a few things I notice when I’m starting to tank. Tank, as in, I’m so overwhelmed, it’s a danger to myself.

1. Everything I read on social media infuriates me, even when it’s perfectly nice. It makes no sense, but unfortunately, despite BP being a brain chemistry problem, it affects my emotions. Skews my perception. When my best of friends are saying things that plum piss me off, I finally notice I’m tanking. And by the way, I say piss me off because that’s the truth. Saying it makes me angry doesn’t cut it because “piss” relays that dirty, mean-spirited, nasty factor.

2. I don’t want to get out of bed. Okay, so most days I don’t wanna get outta bed. Like 95% of days. But when it’s so bad I’m afraid to move, even to use the restroom, or feed the cat who we all know I love dearly, then I recognize that, “Houston, we have a problem!”

3. I hurt more everywhere. Physically, I’m discussing here.

So, what do I do now?

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First, I try to maintain a low profile on social media. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but sometimes I fail at this.

Next, I do extra stretches, extra walking outside in the backyard.

I pray and read devotionals.

I listen to my “Peppy Make Me Wanna Move” playlist.

Finally, I call a RESET DAY.

During said reset day, I get lost in a book, as of late an audiobook, and color while listening.

And my loving, supportive family here in the home respects that I need to take the day as I need it. I love them for that.

Then, start over tomorrow. Reset.

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