I am currently quite frustrated, and I have debated for quite some time to succumb to the practice of blogging. Normally I hate to write. I hate how it makes me feel, hate what I write, hate the feelings that are poured out from the simple practice and writing what I think. However, I am at my wits-end, so here I am, an anonymous blogger. However, at the very least, I think it may have the potential to be neat to look back and see the places I’ve been, the things I’ve felt, and see how I’ve grown. I hope this can be a somewhat cheesy reflection piece to see how even though sometimes I feel like the years are just cyclical, my emotions and problems are just on repeat, and I’ve completely at a stand still, that is not necessarily the reality of the situation.
The last few months have been awful. In December of 2011 my father had a heart attack and multiple surgeries to attempt to save his life. During my drive back visiting my pops in the hospital, I watch my uncle’s defibrillator shock him. And that marked the downfall of 2012. Trying to gain control and make sense of the awfulness surrounding me, knowing that I’m losing my dad and not being able to stop it, I count every single thing that I put in my mouth and violently punish myself for my shortcomings for being ounces heavier than the day before. Falling deeper and deeper into isolation, abused and manipulated by Ed, I almost completely lose touch of the outside world, of any possibilities of a healthy and normal future, of the capacity to love and be loved. Then, on September 13, 2013 my dad falls to the floor dead. The misery of that year that I had been predicting in nightmares time and time again happens. I got the call that I had been dreading yet anticipating.
Fast forward a few months, here I am trying to move forward in my recovery, in a recovery that Ed sincerely intents to halt every second of every day. My mom who has never really been there for me is now very dependent on me. My sweet, sweet husband who has so selflessly put himself on the back burner is by my side, and I am trying so hard to fight to make this circumstance as normal and okay as possible for the very sake that he didn’t choose this. He shouldn’t have to have yet another year of absolute pain because of the wife that he married.
The last few nights my sleep has been awful. It’s ironic too, since I had nightmares the nine months leading up to my dad’s death, nightmares of him having a heart attack and me not being able to stop it. And yet not once after his death have I had a nightmare even close to similar to those. Yet the last few nights I’ve been getting awful nights sleep. Worrying about my mom who refuses to be independent, despite the constant radio flowing out of her mouth detailing her made-up accomplishments and fantasy plans. The texting is what has pushed me over the limit. The texting, the stupid texting, of her careless thoughts and selfish motives as if she does not have any idea that she’s indeed texting another human being, a human being that she’s hurting, a human being that she’s damaging, is what has pushed me to my limit. I live by boundries, I love them, and I am struggling at this moment to feel it. They’ve been the only thing that has kept me in the illusion of security, of safety from the insane situations that I wake up to. I am desparately trying to remind myself that they do exist, yet all the while as the lines become harder and harder to become clear, my mother and Ed are shouting at me, indirectly and very, very directly how much I suck, how much of a failure I am and have always been. The constant noise and ruthless, incessant sabotage has left me with one massive headache, and heartache for my dad.
Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the words of the wise brings healing. Proverbs 12:18.