June 10, 2012

The Brick Wall


We were walking out of the door for swim practice Friday when I just hit a brick wall.  I had a pop tart in my hand, which was to be my breakfast.  I hate pop tarts.  I didn’t want to eat it.  But as usual, I had fed everyone, loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, folded laundry, put wet clothes in the dryer, showered, and dressed myself and everyone else by 8:15.  Again, as usual, everyone had eaten except me.  I got to the door and said to myself, ‘Fuck this shit.  We’re not going.’  Because I’m not eating this pop tart for breakfast.  Because I’m sick of being last.  Because I hate your fucking daddy.  And my life.  And everyone.  I hate the shit bubbling through the pipes in my basement.  I hate that I pretend some fucking fairy is going to show up and handle my business.  I hate you, motherfucker, for doing this to me.  I’m tired of being a ninja.  I just want to be a girl.  Regular.  Not superhuman.  But still a goddess.  What will happen if I continue to do 12 things at once for the rest of my godforsaken life?  I look around and I see that things are starting to fall apart.  It’s obvious Dave doesn’t live here now.  The handle on my oven is broken and hanging.  Little darling’s artwork is still all over the kitchen wall.  There is a leg broken on a small table in my bedroom.  Fence boards are loose.  Gates are broken.  I think about how I would love to be oblivious to life.  Unconnected.  Uncharged.  Untethered.  Uncaring.  I guess this is why I don’t watch the news.  Don’t read the paper.  Don’t want to know.  Because this is all I can do.  This right here.  This family of four.

I need a break from these kids.  All of them at once.  I close my eyes and think about how carefree I once was.  How I took everything for granted.  How two people did what I do now by myself.  How I simply walked out the door when I wanted.  Went places.  Did things.  How I could say, “Look, I’m done, I need a break,” and a break was given.  And I came back recharged.  More patient.  Even if all I did was shop, visit a friend, or lose myself somewhere for a few hours.  I try hard not to think about the future.  Not to get panicked about my life that suddenly seems so unlike the life I want.  

I miss him.  It’s been almost a year since I touched him.  I feel alone.  Because I am.  I feel overburdened.  Because I am.  I’m angry, because I was powerless to help him.  It’s sneaking up on me like an enormous panic attack, and I’m powerless to stop it.  I feel it in my chest, in my heart, in the way that it hurts to breathe.  In the way that it strangles me, and hurts my throat.  I hold my breath.  I beg it to stop.  I hate that I can’t control it.  Why?  Why does the calendar have control over me?  I feel myself losing it.  Feel myself going back to how I was, right after.  Those first few months.  When I looked past everyone, and couldn’t listen or comprehend anything anyone said.  People spoke to me, and I just stared at them, blankly.  Because I was in a place where no one I knew had ever been.  And I’m there again.  I take a step closer to it each day.  I’m rageful, and full of hate.  My heart makes weird palpitations, and I worry I will die and leave my precious babies orphaned.  I walk past a photo.  It’s one of the only two photos we have of our whole complete family.  It says ‘family’ on the frame.  I’m powerless to stop myself from slinging it across the room.  Smashing it to smithereens.  It feels good.  I pray that when I turn it over, the glass has poked and ruined his face.  It has.  His mouth is white.  Because he is a liar.  Because everything he did was a lie.  It was all a lie.  My whole life was a lie.  Even my babies are bastards. 

In 25 days it is D-Day.  I know that if I get it all out now, that the blow will be softened that day.  I can’t look at the clock at 5:08.  5:08 is when he sent the suicide note to the printer.  It’s the only solid time I have.  The rest is a guess.  I hold onto something my therapist said a long time ago.  That the lows don’t undo all the progress you’ve made.  That when the lows are over, you pick up right back where you left off.  I force myself to admit that I’ve come a long way.  That I even surprised myself.  Exceeded even my own expectations.  I remind myself who I am.  The strongest person I know.  That it’s good to be me.  It feels like a lie.

31 comments:

  1. My heart hurts for you, dear! If we were friends IRL, I'd love nothing more than to take your boys and my three girls, and let them all drive me INSANE for a whole day! I'm sure we'd have a swell time!
    You need some "me " time, and I hope that you get it, some way, somehow. Hopefully you can be on a beach somewhere for D -Day. You all need to get out of that house and town for a little bit. Love ya Mad Lady!

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  2. Lots of hugs your way. I believe that as the day comes closer, you'll shed more and more fear and become even stronger than before.

    I have a question and of course, please don't answer if it is too intrusive. Did Dave explain anything in the note or was it just ramblings of the illness?

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  3. OMG! Reading this made MY throat constrict! If I lived near you I would totally take your kids off your hands for a few hours (days??), and lend you my husband to fix all that shit! (If that wouldn't be creepy...) I hope that even as you trudge through this that you can feel the thousands of people who are rooting for you and your boys... because we really are!

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  4. Please hang in there. You have a lot of people who care what happens to you even if you don't know them personally. We Care! About You!

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  5. I just started reading your blog. You have made my life better by being such an inspiration. Thank you.

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  6. As I read this my heart aches for you and your children. I hope that you find some comfort knowing that you have created quite a support group here!
    I was with my ex-husband for 19 1/2 years and it was all a lie. His drinking, drugs and of course women was always my fault! Of course I know now that he was the fucktard!
    May you find peace today!
    A friend

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  7. Terri reach out for someone to help with things around the house, like one of the guys who used to work for Dave or Dave's brother. Yes, it's shit that you have to deal with it or that anyone other than Dave has to deal with it. It should be Dave's job; his responsibility; and he walked away and it sucks and it pisses you off. I do the same thing around my house all the time. If Dale could see the house the way it is now, he would go into total Clean Freak Mode. Don't do what I did with the darlings ... don't feel like it always has to be YOU taking care of them because you are all they have left. Lean on friends and force them on to family. Don't just accept help, TAKE it. If at all possible, try to get members of Dave's family to spend time with the kids so you can get a break, and to remind Dave's family that he left behind children that need them now, too. "It takes a village" they say, to raise a child. Hopefully your Villagers will circle 'round and hopefully they aren't dressed like The Village People ;) ((((HUGS)))) to you as the calendar beats on you. And keep reminding yourself that you ARE the strongest person you know, and that you CAN do this, even on the days you really don't want to. Lyrics to "Meet Virginia" ... "She pulls her hair back as she screams ... I don't really wanna be the Queen."

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    1. So, so good, can't think of anything to add to Dina's. Sending good thoughts to you and hoping you get some ME time soon. You will make it, you made it thru all the other "firsts" this long shitty year. Hug your babies and keep on going.

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    2. Well said, indeed. You're a good friend. Thank you for saying what we all want to say.

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  8. I really can't add much more to what Dina said. It was spot on. She , sadly, knows:(. You need to cry, scream, and mourne.
    When the anniversary of my event comes, after 26 yrs, the month of nearly kills me. Seriously. But , by the time the DAY gets there, I'm ok. Really. Bizarre but true. And then the countdown starts again. Yes, life is fucked. But, it gets a little less so each year.

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  9. You're beyond strong....you're a super hero! Hang in there, time will make things better.

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  10. I cannot even pretend to have an inkling of an understanding of the suffering you endure. You capture the pain so precisely in your writing. It is very moving, and I admire your strength. I know it must be tough to have those moments of clarity. When you become painfully present in your life, but then every time you move past it a little, you grow. Growing doesn't come easy, and its not always all its cut out to be. Hang in there.

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  11. Grieving sucks but remember we are still here and have to make the best of it. Hugs to ya sistah!!

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  12. Listen to Dina.

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  13. You have made tremendous progress!! I remember those long, endless days last year when it seemed like you were robotic or in slow motion & we were numb not knowing what to do, still not knowing exactly what to do. I think you need to be away when D-Day strikes go to your dad's or out of your zip code!!!!

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  14. You are one of the strongest people I have seen...and the point is, youre dealing with it, which is more than most people can say...I tip my hat to you ma'am

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  15. I love how you write and love your honesty. Sending positive energy and prayers your way.

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  17. Ok,at the risk of sounding a bit dorky I am going to admit that I like you. I like you. Sounds so completely corny a thing to say to someone, but have you ever noticed how few people know they are liked? That they are seen. That someone is seeing them. Understanding them. Feeling with them each cut and shiver. That they are appreciated and even fretted over by someone who knows they are suffering 10,000 hells on a monthly basis?

    I like you. I like that you are allowing yourself to speak about things that would be easy to keep in a dark place that poisons your heart a little drip at a time The bravery of that is not overlooked. Even while being terrified of your choices and future you have allowed us in. Us who read your blog. I am thankful and I like you more for it.

    I appreciate deeply that you are sharing scary things that make you bleed and cry. That you allow me to enter into that place of pain with you and see you completely real. There is no way to convey the deep respect that comes from seeing that kind of honesty and truth. There is no way to express how very much I know the gift of your words spoken. There is no way to express how strongly I understand that overwhelming urge to delete the scary thing you just posted moments after you posted it. I know that feeling and I am proud of you for not giving in to it.

    I like you. You have shared something that makes you feel like a sister, a mother, a cherished family member. Someone I look up to and cherish deeply. I know I do not know you, but I like you nonetheless. I might even like you more because I do not know you, because it takes guts and spunk to tell your truth. To put yourself out there and hope that others can see your sincerity and complexity for what it truly is, stubborn refusal to give up.

    I do not see you as less because you cry, or worry, or freak out, or tremble under the pressure of life being lived. I see you as more for these things, because I have been there to. Your words lead me there with you. You are no longer alone under that table, in that corner, or next to that photo. You have let me in those dark places with you and I am deeply appreciative for the sharing of it.

    I just thought you should know that I like you. Even if it does make me feel a little dorky.

    Bekki Bedow

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    1. I like you too.

      Thankyou Nectarfizz for expressing what I think many of us feel/think!

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  18. I've never kept pictures out because I don't need the visual reminder of what's in my head every GD day. But, sometimes I sneak a peek in the picture boxes in the closet. I do miss him. I loved him once. I have all his HS love notes and cards he gave me while we were married. I have my wedding ring that I wear to bed sometimes. My own private hell that I didn't think anyone truly understood until I started reading your blog.

    Since I moved away from family before he died and refused to go back because I'm independent like that...I never did get a break, really. His family fell apart after he died and I only have his sister to talk to although she's across the country. You just get used to it. If you have family to rely on, do it. It doesn't make you weak to ask for help. It makes you human.

    Most people say they can't imagine what it must be like to deal with this. They say they wouldn't be able to handle it. Lucky us...not only do we have the strength, but we have the desire to make it without them (and stick our tongues out at them in the process).

    There is no magic pill. You just learn to deal with it and there is no right or wrong in the healing process. You'll have these low days where you've HAD IT. Then, it will pass. Everything is temporary. Everything is temporary - except the pain in our hearts. That lasts forever. Allow yourself your unapologetic temporary moments of anger, hatred, pain, sadness....right now I know those moments are frequent.

    Feel for you so much. You express every thought I've ever had. We all wish we could help more than lending internet support. Much love to the Goddess you are and will always be...even if you don't feel like it.

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  19. This is the first time I've ever read your blog. My heart hurts for you, yet sends me hope. On dec 29 2011 my mother murdered my father. They were best friends...but she is bipolar was off her meds and drunk. And to top it off my 14 year old sister saw it all. (Whom I now have custody of) As a mother of a 2 yr old, newborn, and guardian of my sister at the age of 21 I scream on the inside of what I did to deserve the cards thrown my way that night, but I know one day the reason for everything that has happened will all make sense, until then people like you will show anything can be done you just have to keep your head up, and keep on truckin!

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  20. Thank you. I don't have the words to say how reading this made me feel. I lost my husband 11 months Friday so coming up on that "anniversary" is so scary. The cops say suicide but I was there and believe it was an accident induced by Afghanistan service, relationship issues and alcohol. That weird gray area has made it really difficult to be angry at him, I mostly blame myself. So I just wanted to tell you that you're doing an amazing thing with this blog. Thank you.

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  21. First time reader, no judgement here except admiration of how strong and outspoken of a person you

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  22. I'm honored to find your blog, and honored to be reading it...

    About 'The Brick Wall'...

    WOW. I don't have the words. Only, WOW.

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  23. My deepest regret is that when Jeff, & I had been apart for almost a year (the last month of my ppregnancy, plus 8 months after Robbie was born) I got so angry. I collected all of the cards I had saved over the years (we'd known one another since I was 11, & always at least been friends), notes, drawings, & every picture, & burned them!!! I mean a nice big fire in my sister's fire place, and all of it went up in flames.. Three years later he was gone, & I was in so much pain, shock, just everything.. And I had no way of ever showing him to Robbie, if he wanted to see what he looked like, no notes, or cards to show him his biodad could be caring, when his demons were at bay. Nothing.. We have two pictures of Jeff now, that a friend had, Robbie kept one in his bedroom, briefly, now it's put away in my desk. I never take it out, I have made great strides, & have a wonderful husband now who also knew Jeff, so that makes it easier for me. However I still remember every minute, of every day that I grieved (I still do, just not as often), & I wish I could tell you when it will get better, but I can't. Because some days I stil run headlong into the brickwall myself :( I couldn't be happier to have made your aquaintence on Facebook, & that you are brave in ways I wasn't early on... You are amazing, you are incredible, you are a mom.. And finallly you are absolutely allowed to be so furious that sometimes it takes your breath away. And if we were closer in distance, I would turn all four of our boys loose on my mother, & come fix you fence, & gates, & everything, because I'm cool like that, & I do remodeling for a living... Love to you Sweets

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  24. You are an amazing writer. This was my first time reading your blog and I loved it. You are honest and real. Keep letting it out, because you are right better out than in and I am sure you will continue to gain many supporters and people that truly do care to listen.

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  25. My dad committed suicide about eight years ago. It took me at least five years to get past feeling like I was going to suffocate any time I thought about him. My mom went through the same thing you are with the house falling apart and trying to keep her head above water.

    Strangely, I have the opposite problem with dates. I can remember the month it happened, but never the actual date. Every year I have to look through my old date books to figure it out. I guess my brain protects me by blocking it out. Either way, it's hard every year on my family. Stay strong and ask for help. It's not a sign of weakness. Someday you will repay the favor when the shit hits the fan for someone else.

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  26. Just found your blog, and my heart goes out to you. I've not had suicide in my life, and can't pretend to feel your pain. I have been a single parent with three children and know that overwhelmed feeling, when you are surrounded by people, yet so alone. I hope that time is your friend and that the pain will ease. The comfort you will find in your children will hopefully keep you moving forward.

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  27. I have been reading all day and all I have right now sister...is I love you. In that we are all interconnected in this crazy world and there is a little of each of us in each other's stories. If that makes sense.

    I would so take the boys for you any time...Come to NY...its beautiful here and we have excellent wine. :-)

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