tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-510102853506577752023-11-16T07:00:15.053-06:00Divorced Me: from A to ZMy divorced life, one letter of the alphabet at a time.
What led to the divorce, what it is like to be divorced, and everything in between. Oh, and I forgot to mention - I was married to a sociopath.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.comBlogger178125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-16989231707036110052014-09-10T14:20:00.000-05:002015-12-20T12:23:59.384-06:00V is for VoidI have a huge void in my life. Forget that Ex and I are no longer together. Forget that I live alone. Forget that I flunked out of dental school - twice. Forget that my family lives far, far away. So what, then is the void? <br />
<img height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMve3zdef1WAu6x2efXcZxMpqFf9e3hPPhRXA_h1Jx_Di2dR7-q7OiOISfdQktYGHC9G1AmA1nJ7egGz3QM1XC_iAD6l2XUyPm_e8oX066bhKisezcF9mBE-EGAeeBYuiQ5o5vqhMfS_E/s320/deep-dark-place-hole-feeling-depression.jpg" width="320" /><br />
My stupid therapist convinced me to turn in my hoard of pills. I hate her. I wanted them there "just in case," but she said I cannot have a life worth living if suicide is always an option. The door is always there and I was standing on the doorstep wanting to walk through. Not that there aren't a million other ways to kill yourself, but it was the symbolism of it. <br />
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I have the worst headache, my back hurts, my wrist hurts where I broke it three years ago, my stomach hurts, and I feel like throwing up. I am not happy. To say the least. I hate my therapist right now. So much. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-76729651014071333082014-09-07T19:34:00.000-05:002014-09-07T19:34:39.114-05:00U is for UndeniablyI was talking to a friend of mine about life with Ex, and the rapist that was running rampant in my neighborhood came up in conversation. I told her that Ex was working out of town and the rapist had been on my back porch. This was before he had started his rampage, so the police were not that concerned. <br />
<br />
Two days later, I came home to find news vans all over my neighborhood. The rapist had come back and "chose" the lady who lived on the corner of my block. Two houses away. He probably came back to my house, saw that I had fixed the window latch, and moved on. (The latch had been secure but was on crooked, so it looked like it was broken. I fixed it and installed a motion-sensor light.)<br />
<br />
I called Ex and asked him to come home that weekend. He hadn't been home the past two weekends. I told him that "it would be nice to have a man around the house." <br />
<br />
Oops.<br />
<br />
Ex proceeded to yell at me for two hours. I still don't know why he was offended by my words. It was a compliment if nothing else. I called him a man. I said I would feel safer if he was with me. How is that bad?<br />
<br />
I also wonder why I stayed on the phone for two hours and let him yell at me. What was I thinking?<br />
<br />
I did not go into detail with my friend today, but I did tell her about Ex yelling for two hours. She said, "He sounds lovely. How could you let him get away?" <br />
<br />
Undeniably true. What a prize.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-69385442078171708222014-08-30T22:32:00.000-05:002014-08-30T22:32:09.075-05:00T is for TodayMy week has not been a good one. It started out with the therapy session described in "S is for Skin" and went downhill from there. School started on Monday, and in my first class, we were told to interview a person the teacher selected, and then write an introduction of that person, based on a fake and secret bias that the teacher handed everyone. On Wednesday, the guy who interviewed me volunteered to read his introduction about me. <br />
<br />
His secret bias was, "You feel intellectually superior to the person you are interviewing." This guy took it all the way. He made fun of my green apple sunglasses. He said it was hard to take me seriously as I "gabbed on and on about aliens." (Um, he asked me if I believed in aliens, and I said not really, but I was open to the idea.) He said I had gone to dental school and it "didn't work out." He said I was still trying to get a degree after all of these years. Ouch. Ouch. And ouch.<br />
<img height="240" src="http://i.imgur.com/o6Lxh.jpg" width="320" /><br />
Could he have made me sound like a bigger loser? Yes, he could. When asked where I would like to travel, I said Belize. When asked why, I said, "Because a dude I know has been talking about it and it sounds like a great place to visit." That became: "She said she wants to follow a dude she knows to Belize." <br />
<br />
Most of what he said was true. (Although I DO have my undergraduate degree - IN CHEMISTRY, you stupid film major.) But now, on top of horrid flashbacks from Monday's therapy session, I have the added stress of this asshole displaying my lack of success not only to the entire class, but more importantly, to me. <br />
<br />
Is this what people think of me but are usually too nice to say? Does everyone think (know) that I am the Biggest Loser?<br />
<img src="http://www.utahagenda.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Biggest-Loser-Logo-250x1.jpg" /><br />
Last night, I went out drinking with some friends. I have never gotten so drunk in my life. We went to a bar and then the casino that is a block from my house. Somehow, I ended up in the third-floor bathroom, nearly passed out, when my friend found me. They had to get a wheelchair to get me out. I couldn't stand up. I didn't care. I was laughing. Once they got me home and on the couch (I convinced them not to carry me up the stairs), I started crying. They took good care of me. I am lucky to have such good friends. <br />
<br />
Today, I felt horrible. I threw up quite a few more times. I have a painful spot on my forehead, and my friend told me I hit my head "a few times." I am not surprised. Today, I talked to both of the friends who brought me home, and they both were concerned but not upset. They thought it was kind of funny. It was. But not really. <br />
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Today has been the first day since Monday that I have not gotten drunk. I want to drink but still feel really ill. I am left struggling un-fortified with alcohol to help numb the pain in my head. Not pain that can be eased by aspirin. Pain from years of abuse, years of neglect, years of loneliness, years of self-doubt, years of feeling lost, years of feeling useless. What can you take to get rid of that pain? Anybody? Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-45311180633039511332014-08-26T22:30:00.000-05:002014-08-26T22:30:08.588-05:00S is for SkinI had a horrible session in therapy on Monday. Sometimes I wonder how this is all related back to Ex, and then I remember that I had myself together before I met him. Sure, my childhood abuse had already happened and was in no way connected to Ex, but I had managed to suppress it deeply enough that it didn't bother me. Then Ex came along and almost killed me, and now everything is over my head and I can't take much more of this. <br />
<img src="http://www.estatevaults.com/bol/_drowning.jpg" /><br />
Monday. My therapist had me imagine my nine-year-old self, and picture my adult self sitting beside her while she read. I did. Then she said talk to the nine-year-old about what she was reading. I did. Then she said to rub her back. <br />
<br />
Oh, hell, no.<br />
<br />
I won't go into the details here because, well, frankly, I have never told anyone, and I don't intend to start here. Although, what better place than an anonymous blog with a pseudonym to die for? Still won't. Okay. Anyway, that suggestion brought up horrible - and I do mean horrible - memories of childhood abuse. I ended up in the fetal position on my poor therapist's floor, sobbing uncontrollably. So much fun I'm having these days. I can't get the ick of memories off of my skin. I have tried hot showers, cold showers, tight clothes, loose clothes, compression, avoidance, and just attempted to scrape it off with one of those gray sanding blocks. Nothing works to cleanse my skin. Nothing. <br />
<img src="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/88/a4/bd/88a4bd9957c1af7f81c8b74c30a9deee.jpg" /><br />
If I believed God answered prayers, I would pray for a train to hit me tomorrow on my way to work. Wishful thinking. If wishes were horses, Christy would get run over by a stampede. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-39518148237763414572014-08-22T13:21:00.000-05:002015-12-20T12:26:54.617-06:00R is for RecollectI was making small talk with a coworker who happened to mention that she loved puppets. WHAM! I had completely forgotten a HUGE part of my childhood. My father made a huge, elaborate puppet theater for me, along with a plethora of puppets that were made of foam, had those huge, spinning eyes, and sticks with a complicated spring-contraption that moved their mouths. I think there was some way to move their arms, too, but I don't recollect if that is true or not. Either way, the whole thing was pretty fancy.<br />
<img src="http://www.visionofhopemcc.org/images/puppets.JPG" height="133" width="200" /><br />
Why did I block this out? Was it traumatic? Is the puppet show and all of its demands for appreciation connected to hidden traumas? Is that memory attached to something dark and hidden for my own safety? Or is it just something I didn't care about, so let slip from my mind? Now that I am thinking about it, I do know that I never liked the puppet show. There was too much pressure to love it; there was too much pressure to embrace it as a love I owned, rather than one that was forced upon me. I put on my own show behind the theater. I pretended to love it. I had to. <br />
<img src="http://puppetsofworship.com/wp-content/upLoads/2011/04/Bumper-sticker-i-love-puppets.jpg" height="74" width="200" /><br />
I'm disturbed. I'm torn between wanting to figure out why I blocked this from my mind and wanting to leave bad memories lying dormant. But are they even bad memories? I don't know. I know that I found one of the records on YouTube that we used to play, and listening to it raised my anxiety level by about a million. <br />
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Of course, I will talk to my therapist about this. And hope that she thinks it isn't important. I don't need any more bad memories. Thanks, anyway.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-74053375419850204672014-08-20T20:15:00.001-05:002014-08-20T20:19:01.766-05:00Q is for Queasy I usually do not go this long without writing. I try to write every two or three days, so you guys have something fresh to read. But sometimes, I get stuck on a letter. Oh, well, you may be thinking; Q would be hard. There are not a ton of words that start with Q. That is not the reason, however. The reason is, quite simply, that I don't want to write this one. I knew Q would be for Queasy at around the letter L. I have been dreading it since then. <br />
<img height="200" src="https://lh6.ggpht.com/g9h9eJKTuKAygRobU45dVIKSEPEo-XIIeDhbLyUkL6au3kiVSBF0aRd8Sv79LbGBhQ=h900" width="119" /><br />
I feel queasy almost all the time. My stomach hurts the worst in the morning, along with my head. I almost always wake up with both a stomachache and headache. This has been the way it is for years. So long, in fact, that I didn't even notice it until, in therapy, we started talking about my father. Then I began noticing that I was fine until I walked into my therapist's office, and while checking in, I would start to feel nauseated. By the time I got upstairs, I would feel like throwing up. My therapist is not a nauseating person; quite the opposite. So why this reaction?<br />
<br />
The queasiness would get worse when we were talking about my father. Sometimes my stomach hurt so badly that I couldn't sit up straight. The need to apply pressure was overwhelming. It was worse than the worst cramps I have ever had. (I am not sure why I'm writing this in past tense. It still happens every week.) My therapist has educated me about the enteric nervous system. Apparently, humans have a ton of neurotransmitters in the stomach, and that is why troubling things are often felt in the gut. I found an interesting article in the<span style="color: yellow;"> </span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1996/01/23/science/complex-and-hidden-brain-in-gut-makes-stomachaches-and-butterflies.html?src=pm&pagewanted=1" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">New York Times</span></a> about it, if you are interested in learning more. It was very enlightening. <br />
<img src="http://livingwellnessblog.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/gut-brain-connection.jpg" height="140" width="320" /><br />
I think I have mentioned that I felt a cold knot of fear in my stomach every time I would drive up the hill to the house and see Ex's truck in the driveway, or every time I was home and heard Ex pull up. I never knew what mood he would be in, and it was generally a bad one, which resulted in the fear. Now I know why it was my stomach that hurt. <br />
<br />
I have been doing a lot of thinking about my morning queasiness and have come to the conclusion that, during the day, I can control my thoughts. During the night, my subconscious mind is given full reign on my memories, and it runs gleefully through all of my past traumas. Which makes my stomach hurt. Which makes for bad mornings. Which makes me "not a morning person." You would not be a morning person, either, if you woke up with a mind stuck in the throes of tortures past. <br />
<img src="http://www.fotothing.com/photos/467/467fb1ff60330c2c6120dd58fc687bd0.jpg" height="252" width="320" /><br />
I feel better after writing this down. It has been bothering me for a long time now. I don't like to admit (especially to myself) that the first trauma I remember was when I was about two and a half years old. That isn't fun. Result: a lifetime of feeling queasy. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-57606849569936926362014-08-11T15:40:00.000-05:002014-08-11T15:40:13.324-05:00P is for PositiveUp until I got married on July 19, 2008, I was the most positive person you had ever met. My glass was not only half-full; my glass was overflowing. I was optimistic and ready to take on the world. God was on my side and nothing could stand in the way of me getting into dental school and using my skills to help people. I was going to help poor people. I was going to help people who were scared to go to the dentist. I was going to help put my nieces and nephews through college. I was going to support my mother. <br />
<img height="211" src="http://endoftheamericandream.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/Drain-Public-Domain.jpg" width="320" /><br />
It was all going to happen. Of this, I still have no doubt. Then I met Ex and sent my life spinning down the drain. <br />
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My overflowing glass is now shattered. I am no longer a positive person. I am the negative of that positive. Before July 19, 2008, I used to wonder what it would be like to be pessimistic. I thought it would be sad and depressing. Now I know. It is. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-57519115943394094402014-08-09T22:02:00.000-05:002014-08-20T20:21:58.875-05:00O is for OftenThere are quite a few things that haunt me about decisions I made before marrying Ex. Red flags I ignored. Signs that practically slapped me in the face as I sped on past. I am often troubled by these regrettable decisions I made. <br />
<br />
I often think about the conversation I had at Taco Bell with my mom. This was right after Ex had asked me to marry him. I told my mom that I was worried that Ex saw me as a meal ticket. I had not yet been accepted into dental school, but was well on my way. Ex often talked about all of the things we (he) could buy, once I was making a dentist's salary. <br />
<img src="http://tjthesportsgeek.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/crunchytaco.png" height="158" width="200" /><br />
Those of you who have been reading this blog for even a little while know my mother is not the most caring. I don't know why I was asking her for advice. I often wonder about that. My mom just ate her food and told me to pray about it. I had been praying, often. This was before I lost my faith in the power of prayer. I still believe in God, but not that He believes in me. I often wish I would have listened to my own instincts telling me to run. (I didn't. Obviously.)<br />
<br />
The thing that bothers me the most often about Ex is our disagreement about having children. I had never wanted to procreate. I didn't want any child to live through a childhood similar to mine, and I didn't trust myself to be a good mother. Ex lied when we first met, and told me he didn't want kids, either. This was a conversation we had on our second date. Long after that, we were engaged and on our way to visit my family. We had just been to visit Ex's family, and his sister told me that Ex had always wanted kids. So I asked him about it on the trip. <br />
<img height="133" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4121/4933702541_b5f24f1bd9.jpg" width="200" /><br />
Of course he did. I often think about myself sitting on the gravel behind the car, on the highway off ramp, in the middle of nowhere, weeping. Why did I not just turn around, drop Ex off at his house, and go on with my life? I often wonder. Instead, we continued on to my mom's house and I cried there for hours. That is the one and only time I slept in my mom's bed. I was inconsolable. I often think of my cousin, who we met out at a city-wide garage sale the next day. She told Ex that she was so looking forward to having him be part of our family, and that everyone really liked him.<br />
<img src="http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f382/Guardman/TheFamilyofferquote.jpg" height="160" width="400" /><br />
I often wonder why I put in so much time in agonized thought only to come up with the wrong conclusion. I loved Ex with every part of my being. He wanted children. It was lose him or lose my fear of motherhood. I chose him. Oops.<br />
<img src="http://www.prssasacstate.com/uploads/1/0/5/1/10516095/1435175_orig.jpg" height="134" width="200" /><br />
I often feel a small, burning ember of hatred inside of me for what Ex did to me. I was perfectly content being alone. Then I opened my heart to wanting a whole family. Then Ex showed his sociopathic self and now I am alone. I often wonder how I could have been so stupid. I think I'll go cry myself to sleep now. I've been doing that often lately, but not about myself, lately. Tonight, I will cry for myself...and my unborn children. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-24926522238770829062014-08-04T13:24:00.000-05:002014-08-07T01:24:30.392-05:00N is for NotifiedThe office gossip just notified everyone that the boss is getting a divorce and the owner's right-hand woman is in the mental hospital. Two things I don't want to know. Two things that have happened to me that I didn't want other people to know. I hate the office gossip. She is lazy, snoopy, and annoying. She knows I do not like her. I do not hide my feelings toward her. I have no idea why she notified me of these things. I guess they were just to juicy not to tell.<br />
<img src="http://data2.whicdn.com/images/45684896/thumb.png" /><br />
I feel really bad for my boss. He has two young children. He seems really nice, but I only see him in the workplace, so who knows who he is when he is at home. I just know divorce rips a person apart from the inside out. I know it caused me to fail the biggest opportunity of my life - dental school. I know it still hurts, four years later. I know I will forever be "divorced."<br />
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The right-hand woman...I don't know. I didn't know she was depressed or suicidal or whatever it is that drove her to go to the mental hospital. I feel sad for her. She has three young children and a husband. I don't know how they get along. She works at a different office, so I haven't really gotten to know her. I know failing dental school was what made me go to the hospital. I don't know - and I don't want to know - why she went. It's not that I don't care. It just isn't my business.<br />
<img height="289" src="http://makeameme.org/media/created/not-my-business.jpg" width="320" /><br />
Sad things happen to people. The world is a sad, sad place. I hate it here. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-45686888762277967242014-08-03T09:19:00.000-05:002014-08-03T09:19:10.433-05:00M is for MurderI haven't posted for a while because I was visiting family. For some reason, it reminded me of my Epic Plan. So, instead of writing about my visit with family, I've chosen to write about something that [didn't] happen several years ago. Go figure.<br />
<br />
My Epic Plan was conceived after I received a text from Ex out of nowhere: "I miss your smile and your laughter." After I got over the enormous waves of pain caused by that, I moved on to my Epic Plan. <br />
<img height="240" src="http://media.tumblr.com/f9a56a58767e023878917c399ed5a5d5/tumblr_inline_mmzwhqUWFs1qz4rgp.png" width="320" /><br />
1) Start communicating with Ex again. Let everyone know we were "working on things." <br />
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2) Plan a reconciliation trip with Ex. We had been to the Grand Canyon once, and I would suggest (insist) that we go there.<br />
<img height="137" src="http://www.adventuresbydisney.com/media/abd/north-america/grand-canyon-vacations/grand-canyon-rim-view-1260x540-170121946.jpg" width="320" /><br />
3) We stand at the edge of the canyon, and I make sure there are people within hearing distance, but no one near enough to see us. <br />
<br />
4) I start a fight. Not hard. It would be much harder to NOT start a fight with Ex. Make sure it was loud enough to be overheard.<br />
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5) Scream, "NO! EX!" <br />
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6) Throw myself over the Grand Canyon.<br />
<img height="160" src="http://static.greatbigcanvas.com/categories/grand-canyon-174.jpg" width="320" /><br />
End result: I die and get to end this miserable life, and Ex gets framed for my murder. It would have worked. I really had plans to do it. I had to tell my current therapist about it so someone would know the plan, which would make it not work. Ex would get off.<br />
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I figured, since Ex killed me on the inside, he might as well be blamed for killing me on the outside, too. I sometimes regret not committing the Epic Plan of my own murder. Life is full of regrets. <br />
<br />
Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-65713355544831592202014-07-24T13:49:00.000-05:002014-07-24T13:49:10.060-05:00L is for ListI have a list of people who act the same way. They will claim to love/like me, do something hurtful, get mad at me for what they did, and stop speaking to me. Now granted, they all have serious mental conditions, but still, is there no human decency in these people?<br />
<br />
Ex is at the top of that list. He did this so many times, there is no way to count. I clearly remember the time I got home from work one night and he was on the couch and refused to speak to me. He didn't speak to me for days. Things had been going fine; I had no idea what I had done to make him mad at me. Turns out, I hadn't done anything at all. He had gotten home from work early, gone on a bike ride, and then decided I would be mad that he went without me. So he got mad at me for what my imagined response was, and stopped speaking to me. For days. I didn't even know he had gone on a bike ride in the first place, and I wouldn't have cared. But I got punished for what he had done.<br />
<img height="200" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/i_survived_the_silent_treatment_photo_cutouts-r8e1f68b0de2f4495bd70d123a7aa64e5_x7sa6_8byvr_324.jpg" width="200" /> <br />
My older sister decided I said something hurtful to her. She stopped speaking to me for an entire year. She and her family missed my college graduation and she was not there for me during my difficult divorce. She said mean things about me to her children. My nephews. One day a year later, she suddenly came to the realization that I hadn't actually said anything at all, and all was "forgiven." She explained to me that she understood I hadn't been mean, and that we could be friends. Life was resumed. I got no apologies; there was no remorse for adding to the extreme pain I was going through. Nothing. I forgave her because I love my nephews. I will never trust her. But I will tolerate her for my nephews.<br />
<img height="200" src="http://img1.coolspacetricks.com/images/commentgraphics/love/86913.jpg" width="193" /><br />
Last night, someone I have been a friend to got mad at me because I called her on something hurtful she had done. She thoughtlessly used me (by name) as an example in therapy group, and even though she knew I was upset about it, didn't apologize or even mention it all week. In group, I said I was upset about what had happened. I didn't name her, but she named herself by getting up and leaving. She did apologize via text, which I accepted and apologized to her for not talking to her in private. She then proceeded to tell me why she was in the right. Why it was okay for her to use an incorrect example with my name involved. I didn't get mad. I didn't tell her she was an idiot. I simply told her to leave me out of her examples. "No worries about that." was her reply. And boom, she resigned our Words with Friends game and unfriended me on Facebook. She is mad at me for something she did. <br />
<img height="200" src="http://imaginewisdom.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/creepy-wonka.jpg?w=490" width="200" /><br />
Again, I realize these are very screwed up people I am dealing with. I need to choose better friends. Did you notice I said I had been a friend to this girl, not that we were friends. She was never there for me when I needed her. If I asked to spend time with her, she would tell me she was waiting around, hoping her boyfriend would let her spend time with him. The last time we went to the movies, she bought the matinee tickets and expected me to pay for the refreshments (WAY more expensive.) I missed the previews, which are my favorite part of the movie, because she had decided at the last minute to go see this particular showing and I wanted to accommodate her. Afterwards, I asked if she wanted to go eat or get a drink so we could talk. Nope. She wanted to stand on the sidewalk and talk about herself and then leave. <br />
<img src="http://suburbanbeats.net/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/itsallaboutme.jpg" /><br />
This behavior was typical, but I never called her on her selfishness. I was pathetically grateful that she had spent time with me, since she has a habit of abandoning her friends once she finds a relationship or someone to sleep with. That isn't a friend I need. It makes me sad, but I am better off without that in my life. I need to be around people who are respectful and considerate. <br />
<img height="169" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-mJ4CQCMHDws/URDb_b4eT4I/AAAAAAAAoN0/RFRkvq9CgXE/w500/A_Little_Consideration_-_.jpg" width="320" /><br />
I was thinking this happened to me "all the time," but really, it is just these three mentally ill people who cannot sustain relationships with anyone. I don't know why I think I can be different. I don't know why I should tolerate their insanity. I think my list will end here. Three people on my list of narcissistic people who get mad at me for the hurtful things they do is enough. I've learned my lesson. The list is closed. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-80835651008384905562014-07-22T13:15:00.001-05:002014-07-24T12:59:47.031-05:00K is for KarmaThe Buddhist definition of karma: the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences.<br />
<img src="http://image14.spreadshirt.net/image-server/v1/compositions/201471999/views/1,width=235,height=235,appearanceId=2/I-hope-karma-slaps-you-in-the-face-before-I-do.-T-Shirts.jpg" /><br />
That woman in my therapy group had better have run into a car this week. Not have a car accident; that may have hurt someone else. I mean I hope the idiot was walking and tripped over a car and smashed her face. It's better for something like that to happen rather than me have to smash her face into a brick wall tomorrow.<br />
<br />
My therapist said to just ask her not to talk to me. But she got in my face. I was sitting down and she was practically stepping on my feet. I don't normally get violent. I don't normally even get mad. But she was talking about my family. No idiot is allowed to talk about my family. It has been almost a week and I am still irate. She took something serious and sad and trivialized it with her stupidity. And thought she was cool. <br />
<br />
I'll show you cool.<br />
<img height="276" src="http://www.catgossip.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/google-glasses-cat-2.jpg" width="320" /><br />
I seriously considered not going to group, but my therapist says that isn't effective. Maybe ho-bag won't be there. Maybe she will be embarrassed about the bruises on her face from tripping over a car. If karma exists, that happened. I believe. <br />
<br />Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-52177888876641659262014-07-21T20:43:00.001-05:002014-07-21T20:43:47.396-05:00J is for JittersI have the jitters. What a weird word. But a good one, since it fills two needs I have: to start a post with "J" and to describe my feelings of nervousness about my upcoming visit to see my family. My older sister, her husband, and my four nephews will be driving through my city to pick me up, and then we will stay at a hotel halfway, and then go to see my little sister, her husband, my three nieces, and my mom. Whew!<br />
<img height="86" src="http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2012/022/9/f/fourteen_stick_figures_by_likeaneagle-d4n05m3.jpg" width="400" /><br />
We haven't all been together for years. I miss my family. Ex hated my older sister and her husband, which is extremely ironic, considering the fact that they took his side and remained friends on Facebook with him until (I'm assuming) he dumped them once he met his new wife. "Who are these people, honey?" Explain that. I do wonder if Ex told her he had been married before. My guess is no. But that is another letter.<br />
<img height="200" src="http://www.compeap.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/dont-calm-down.jpg" width="200" /><br />
Why am I jittery? Well, mainly because my place in the family has always been the entertainer. I'm the funny one. I'm the one who laughs first and longest. I'm the happy one. <br />
<img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/c8/Title.newsflash.jpg" /><br />
I'm not happy anymore. I'm just not. Happiness has flown from me like the spirit flies from the dead. It does not exist in this shell. So I'm jittery, because I don't want to let my family know how sad and dead I really am. I don't want to be fake and pretend like everything is okay, either. I don't know who to be anymore. I'm not the me I used to be. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-22762510486607236642014-07-18T23:46:00.000-05:002014-07-18T23:46:20.838-05:00I is for InsomniaIt's back. <br />
<br />
I have struggled with insomnia my entire life, but had a brief respite the last few months. I was given a magical little pill called Ambien, and then was taken off of it, but was still able to sleep. I hoped insomnia was a thing of the past. Nope. <br />
<img src="http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1559643/thumbs/o-AMBIEN-facebook.jpg" height="160" width="320" /><br />
Sometimes I wonder if it is that I cannot sleep or if I do not want to sleep. When things are really bothering me, I have crazy, scary dreams, and I don't want to go to sleep when I know they are coming. I know I've told you about the waves before - how they start out as just slightly odd dreams and then get progressively worse until I wake up screaming. That's fun.<br />
<br />
I'm really tired tonight. Last night, I stayed up until 4:00 a.m. and then, even after turning out the light, laid there awake for a long time. I don't look at the clock once lights are out. It's too depressing. I really want to go to sleep, but the dreams I had last night were slightly odd. The wave is starting.<br />
<img src="http://www.row2k.com/graphics/features/alarm_275.jpg" /><br />
When I was with Ex, I would lie awake and listen to him breathe and it would comfort me. It was nice knowing that he was sleeping peacefully, and I would lie there and wonder what he was dreaming about. I would think of names for our future children until I drifted off to sleep. Simon and Sophie. Cute, right? Now I lie in bed and try to focus on my own breathing. It gets scary in my head. No one wants to be in my head. <br />
<br />
I don't know if I can call it insomnia when I know I could easily fall asleep if I would just allow myself to do so. I just don't want to. I'm scared.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-83947576231589017142014-07-16T20:07:00.000-05:002014-07-16T21:14:32.586-05:00H is for HardI haven't been going to group lately, but did go tonight. I wish I had stayed home. We do "check-in," where everyone goes around and says their name, the high of their week, the low of their week, and a skill they used. I told mine. My low was pretty low.<br />
<img src="http://rac.com.au/cs/groups/public_portal/documents/internetcontent/raccont030019.jpg" height="200" width="149" /><br />
Two people came up to me at break and tried to share stories from their lives. One well-meaning girl only succeeded in making me feel sorry for her. The other woman is lucky I was able to refrain from jumping out of my chair and ramming her stupid face into the brick wall. Hard. I am not, by nature, a violent person, but when you are talking to me about something that really matters, don't be stupid. Don't. Just shut your stupid face and go sit down. <br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdfd_v8-7RqdeA_CWT3EozoZ5tXMcHTwgTj2XTc8D7XFfk3GfWWhe37OJyZe6FBrkxo6TcZ9QpNnJV0fXTSmpjfTY2vqDvsE9yIZBwJWZGYTywnKyhlAqqT8oDj4cN-yBuBiX_Gog4Usc/s320/bang-head-against-brick-wall.jpg" height="213" width="320" /> <br />
And then, once group recommenced, another girl used me as an example of people being nice and trying to help. They did not help. One genuinely tried, the other was just stupid and wanted to feel important. Don't use stupidity as an example of kindness. Do not confuse the two, and especially do not involve me. I spent the entire remainder of group trying not to just get up and leave. The only reason I didn't was that a late-comer was sitting right in front of the door and it would have caused drama. I couldn't make a clean exit, so I sat there and drew geometric designs and dissociated until group was finally over. <br />
<img src="http://www.creativityforthesoul.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/mandala-tina-black-white-edge-striped-photo-linda-wiggen-kraft-blog.jpg" height="200" width="188" /><br />
People tried to talk to me after group and they meant well but I was so far out of it and so mad and so sad and so over it that I just left. I had to. I had nothing to say to those people. Now I am at home on my couch, drinking. I have been able to not drink for quite some time. I do not think I have enough alcohol on hand to get as drunk as I want to get, which is probably good, because then I get really, really sad and am strongly tempted to just go ahead and take every pill I have. I blame Ex for all of this. If not for him, I would not be in therapy and would not be subjected to stupid people who need to have their faces smashed into brick walls. Hard.<br />
<br />
I thought therapy was supposed to make me feel better. What happened?Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-86821655849326627862014-07-10T23:22:00.000-05:002014-07-10T23:22:33.343-05:00G is for GoLet me start this post with a serious disclaimer: I am not suicidal. Don't worry about me. That being said, I really want to go to the hospital. I want to lie on the metal bed in a glass room in the ER while they stare at me. I want to lie huddled under a sheet and bawl. I want to soak the sheets. I want the social worker to come in and ask me stupid questions to see if I merit a stay in the psychiatric ward. I know how to answer those questions to gain admittance.<br />
<img height="213" src="http://www.millicanjones.com/images/Healthcare_ECH_ED_I_08.jpg" width="320" /><br />
I want to be taken upstairs in a wheelchair as if I have suddenly lost use of my legs and sit there while they go through my little bag of things. Shoes with elastic so I can wear them instead of slippers. I know I can't have shoelaces. A book. A few changes of clothes. I want to be pointed to a bed in the middle of the night; it's late, because the intake process takes forever. I want to lie in a bed in a room full of strangers and cry myself to sleep.<br />
<br />
I want a nurse to wake me up and give me medication and take my blood and then let me go back to sleep. I want to be called to the cafeteria for a breakfast brought in a huge silver cart. I want to be able to go back to bed and lie there and cry. I want someone to tell me what to do. Eat. Sleep. Take this pill. Come to this group. Watch this show. Take a shower. Rest.<br />
<img height="320" src="http://www.macalester.edu/academics/environmentalstudies/students/projects/citizenscience2010/racialmedicine/Images/Pills%20in%20Cup.jpg" width="250" /><br />
I can't go. I can't afford to board my dogs, and I'm going to visit my family in a few weeks, so I can't miss work. I need the money badly. I don't really need to go. I'm not going to kill myself. I just want to rest for a little bit. I think I will take a tranquilizer and go to bed, set my own alarm, get up later than planned in the morning, tell myself to take my medication, find my own breakfast, drive myself to work, get through the day somehow. It is all so hard.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-91691774805735574742014-07-09T13:10:00.000-05:002014-07-09T13:10:15.307-05:00F is for FloorI find myself drawn to the floor again lately. I do not think this is a good sign. Right after Ex kicked me out, I would sleep on the hardwood floor in front of my couch with a blanket and sometimes a pillow. Usually, Little Woof would steal the pillow during the night and be curled up on it while I woke with a cramp in my neck. Or she would sleep on the back of the couch. Robbie would sleep on the couch and look over the edge at me. Both of my dogs were more concerned about creature comforts than I was.<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="210" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/t1.0-9/162603_474951911233_6311895_n.jpg" style="height: 210px; width: 315px;" width="315" /><br />
I laid on the floor of my therapist's office on Monday. I was sitting on the couch and somehow melted down onto the floor and just stayed there. I don't think she quite knew what to do with me. I was really sad and not motivated to even breathe. I get like that sometimes. I will make an effort to stay on the couch for my next session. I think. <br />
<br />
The months of sleeping on the floor in front of the couch were not healthy, nor should they be repeated. Lying on the floor in front of my therapist's couch reminded me of those nights. They were not fun. They were sad and lonely and desolate and filled with despair and sorrow. And every other synonym for "sad" that you care to insert here. ______________<br />
<img src="http://madeinamericathebook.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/alone.jpg" height="273" width="320" /><br />
I don't think my attraction to the floor is healthy. I am trying to not lie on the floor at work right now. It is not easy. The floor sings a song of comfort and solidarity. I like the floor. The floor likes me. I really want to lie on the floor. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-30985840638585688772014-07-08T14:58:00.000-05:002014-07-08T14:58:48.082-05:00E is for EventuallyEventually, I will not cry at a therapy appointment.<br />
Eventually, I will not need to go to therapy anymore.<br />
Eventually, I will find a job that I like.<br />
<img height="133" src="http://marcyfarrey.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/passion2.jpg" width="200" /><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Eventually, I will succeed at something.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Eventually, I will get to see my little niece again.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Eventually, Jailbird will just be Bird and I will be able to see him again.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<img height="113" src="http://www.ohiodailyblog.com/images/jailbird.jpg" width="200" /></div>
Eventually, I won't remember so many horrible things about Ex.<br />
Eventually, my hair will turn gray.<br />
Eventually, someone will read my book<br />
<img height="150" src="http://ashleebest.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/pages.jpg" width="200" /><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Eventually, I will be able to send money to my mom.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Eventually, my house will be livable.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Eventually, my house will be paid off and it will be all mine.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<img height="200" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/rapgenius/snrulesshirt.jpg" width="150" /></div>
Eventually, I will move.<br />
Eventually, all of this will happen.<br />
Eventually, I will die. <br />
<br />
Eventually, I will realize that, in order for the list to happen, the last thing on the list has to happen right where it is - last. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-86866336881348411042014-07-06T14:42:00.000-05:002014-07-06T14:42:39.268-05:00D is for DreamsI have had series of nightmares for my entire life. They rotate; the rotation starts off as memorable dreams that are only slightly disturbing. I will "remember" running into someone I don't like at the store, or something minor like that. Then they get worse. Memories of my childhood home. I was scared of the door leading from the house to the garage, and I will dream that, no matter how hard I pull, I can't get the door to close all the way, and there is something on the other side that is going to come and hurt me.<br />
<img height="200" src="http://www.wallpaperup.com/uploads/wallpapers/2012/12/20/25947/859681ea1f1b0d312d2a7d6c7905770a.jpg" width="320" /><br />
When I went to see the energy healer, she asked me about my dreams. I told her they start out mild and progress to those that wake me up screaming and crying. I said this very calmly. It is part of my life and has been for as long as I can remember, and it isn't a big deal to me anymore. She looked at me with sorrowful eyes and told me she was sorry that life has been so hard. <br />
<img height="224" src="http://careergirlnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/Picture1.jpg" width="320" /><br />
That almost made me cry. I am generally okay until someone else feels sorry for me, and then I want to join them in their pity of me and bawl. No, my life has not been easy. No, not a lot of good things have gone on. Yes, a lot of bad things have gone down. I don't want to do this anymore. <br />
<br />
Last night, I dreamt of nothing. It was nice. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-19326362374353265262014-07-02T19:09:00.000-05:002014-07-03T13:44:34.914-05:00C is for ChakraI did something completely out of character today and went to see an energy healer. I don't believe in that stuff. I don't. Well, apparently, I do. Or at least, I believe in it enough to make an appointment and then actually go to the appointment. It was weird. I was incredibly uncomfortable and felt nauseated at first. She got me talking about training horses, so I kind of forgot why I was there, and she said she did "work" on me while I was distracted. Okay.<br />
<br />
Something must have gone on, because she left the room to get a booklet for me and I got so dizzy I had to put my head between my legs. I seriously thought I was going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Luckily, I did neither, but I'm home on the couch (shocking!) now, and my stomach is really upset. So she did something. Or something. Whatever. <br />
<img src="http://images.angels-with-ros.com/chakras_568.jpg" height="150" width="400" /><br />
She did have a lot of interesting things to say. She showed me a picture and explained the chakras to me. The lower three, I learned, have to do with body stuff (She used far better terminology, but this is what I brought home with me). Then there is the heart, the mind, and the soul, also called the third eye. When trauma happens, the lower three chakras close up. She compared it to a large wound in your arm: you are hurt and have to apply a tourniquet in order to stop the bleeding and survive. Trauma is injury, and closing the chakras is applying the tourniquet. That makes sense to me. <br />
<img src="http://www.awakeningsforlife.com.au/chakra_healing/chakra_flowers_sml.jpg" height="150" width="400" /><br />
Then she said, matter-of-factly, that the lower chakras also shut down when a person dies. Bingo. If I buy into all of this, here is what I get: I have had trauma thrown at me my entire life. I muddled through until marrying Ex, who managed to inflict so much damage that I was forced to shut down my chakras in order to survive. They have been so severely shut down and for so long a time, that now they are in the same state as if my body was actually dying. So when I told my therapist that I feel dead, this could explain that. <br />
<br />
Do I believe this? Or did I just throw my hard-earned money down the drain? I don't know, but I do know I don't feel well. And I can kind of feel my feet. Which, when you've been disconnected from your body as long as I have, is kind of cool.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-46303013785573320852014-06-29T18:34:00.000-05:002014-06-29T18:34:26.516-05:00B is for BlurryI was driving home from visiting Jailbird yesterday when it suddenly occurred to me that my anniversary is IN JULY. Not June. July. The anniversary of my divorce, then, is also in JULY. Not today. I'm not sure what this means. Am I an idiot for being sad on June 19th for no reason whatsoever, or an idiot for being sad on what I thought was my anniversary. Idiot for wrong date, or idiot for caring?<br />
<img height="179" src="http://th07.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2012/043/0/5/lake_people_by_derlevi-d4pgesx.jpg" width="320" /><br />
I wonder. And you know what? I really don't care. I am vaguely curious, but that is all. It doesn't matter anymore. Another thing I realized on my long drive was that the best way to get back at Ex is to get over him. Just not care anymore. This is not something I can make myself do; not something I can choose. It just happened. I mean, I do still care. I do. But to forget the exact date, and to not get upset that I forgot, and to be driving nine hours (round trip) to see another man, that is revenge. <br />
<img height="243" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7327/11063159385_6e150d8907_t.jpg" width="320" /><br />
I still worry about Ex's new wife. I still worry about the possibility of Ex having kids, because he is not father material. I still worry about Ex's mother. But I don't worry about Ex anymore. I used to be sad on his birthdays, because he had no one to care. This year, it passed through my mind, and I wondered if his new wife cared as much as I used to, and tried as hard as I used to try to make it a great day. But I didn't care. <br />
<img height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABVEjct71A-SwYPpHY_vy8oRdYVm1w_HmmUxHwhB7WcUEyUwqk85No1FhKAvbI2Nyl6JwEfEEswyxnIxPSzQmbau7pgpfVk5c8mI6yUxM0VtIcB2Ze0xc9ty3BU_Lr3mKu7dX0iMzB1I/s320/blurry_arkham_city.png" width="320" /><br />
The past is blurry now. I'm okay with that.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-25515724689787976932014-06-27T19:40:00.001-05:002014-06-27T19:40:09.465-05:00A is for AnotherTrue confession time: there is another man in my life. What? Gasp! Can this be true? Well, not in the most technical sense of the word "in" as it pertains to "in my life." The dude is in jail, which is over three hours away, and I rarely talk to him and visits are even more rare. So is he really in my life? Well, yes, in the darkest sense of the word "in." I miss him. I think about him. He is still in my life.<br />
<br />
He asked if he could parole to my house.<br />
<br />
Show of hands, all who think this is a good idea? Anybody? Hello? <br />
<img height="180" src="http://www.darkgovernment.com/news/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/riot-spain.jpg" width="320" /><br />
Yeah, I thought not. I agree - not a good plan. Another man moving in with me may not be such a bad idea, but this man? I mean, dude is in jail, and not for robbing a parking meter. Why am I mentioning him now? Well, I'm going to visit him tomorrow. It is his birthday. We celebrated his birthday in fine style the first year I knew him. The next year, he was in jail, and this year, his dumb ass is still there. He actually did get out, but violated his parole and went right back in. Happy birthday to you, my fine friend. <br />
<img height="320" src="http://spicingupmylife.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/tumblr_m6po0jpd9o1qhujozo1_500.jpg" width="320" /><br />
I know how to pick winners. All of the men I have ever seriously dated (or married, oops) have spent time in jail. Most for one or two nights, two for over a year. I think maybe I should try another hobby...Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-49456150100827808152014-06-26T12:24:00.001-05:002014-06-26T12:24:43.782-05:00Z is for ZilchIt is a funny-looking word: zilch. It also sounds funny: zilch. If one could feel it, one would expect it to feel funny. It's not. It is the opposite of funny. To feel zilch is to feel empty, alone, and desolate. Hopeless. I would say bland, but that word isn't strong enough to convey the absolute blankness of zilch. <br />
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I couldn't get up again today. I didn't go to therapy group last night and I barely made it in to work by 10:15 today. That is the latest I have ever been. I try to get here by 8:00. Ha! I usually make it by 9:30. I hate it here. I comfort myself by looking for a new job, but I know that I really, really, really need to keep this job right now. No, I'm not doing anything worthwhile. No, my job does not matter. No, I do not enjoy this job. But no, it does not matter if I am late. What am I saying - I can't be late when I have no set hours. Late does not exist in this job, therefore, I must stay until I can gather up enough inner strength to get out of bed at a reasonable, regular time every day.<br />
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I woke up at 5:30 this morning so I could meet a friend for spinning class. I didn't make it. This is not the first time I have not made it. I am lucky she is still my friend. I hate being undependable, but most mornings, my ability to function is zilch. All I can do is lie there and stare at the ceiling and wish I had died in my sleep. The thought of another, long, lonely, boring, endless, stupid day is too much. <br />
<img height="209" src="http://37.media.tumblr.com/92cb102b70ce58596d3e8ad8f08b9e26/tumblr_msrxkqZqKJ1so4vxuo1_500.jpg" width="320" /><br />
My psychiatrist is gradually putting me back on a truckload of medication and I am complying, because, at this point, I either need to have help or just give up and die. So far, the medication is not helping. I also have an appointment with an energy healer. If someone would have told me that I would be seeking help from an energy healer, I would have died laughing. I don't believe in that sort of thing. But it's worth a shot. Zilch sucks. Zilch is all I am right now. Zilch is not a long-term option. Hi, I'm Marcy, and I am zilch.Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-36996270890598872142014-06-24T12:51:00.000-05:002014-06-24T12:51:49.412-05:00Y is for YesterdayYesterday, I cried for about two hours. I spent one of those hours crying in my therapist's office, half an hour crying in the car outside her office, and another half hour crying at home. Today, my eyes are puffy and my cheeks are still red. I look ridiculous.<br />
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Yesterday, I came face-to-face with the realization that no matter what I do, nothing will change. No matter how hard or long I cry, my mother will never love me. No matter how long I weep, Ex will never magically come back and the past will never change. My husband didn't love me and never will. No matter how many tissues I soak through, I will never matter on this planet. I could go to therapy the rest of my life, and the only thing that will change is my perspective. I could learn to not care that no one loves me. Learn to accept that there is no happy ending for me. Learn that my dogs are the only beings to whom my existence makes a difference. <br />
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Yesterday was rough. Somehow, I managed to come to work today. I do not matter here, either. I'm processing progress notes from May 2013. They have been sitting in a pile for over a year. Yesterday, I processed over 200 notes, and today, I am sitting here playing games on Facebook. It does not matter that I am here. I could go home and it would not make a difference. I could leave and never come back and it would not matter. <br />
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Yesterday, I realized that nothing I do matters. What is it that keeps me here? What keeps me going? I don't have an answer to that question. Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51010285350657775.post-55975089824606194382014-06-20T22:15:00.001-05:002014-06-20T22:15:29.370-05:00X is for X GamesThe last winter Ex and I were married (as if there were so many of them...), Ex was working in Colorado. He was happy to be there (this is where he lived with the couple and I'm pretty sure he was sleeping with the wife) and spent his weekends sleeping with the wife or out on the mountains. Or both. Who knows? Who cares?<br />
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The X Games were in Colorado and he got to go to watch in person. I was at home, talking to him on the phone and watching the games on television. He wanted me to be able to see him, so he found a camera and stood beside it. Um, I can't see you, Ex. You have to be in front of the camera. So he went around the ropes and stood beside the announcer's stand and waved at the camera. I never did see him. But the thought was nice and it made me feel closer to him.<br />
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Ex spent a lot of money while he lived there. He owned a snowboard, so at least he wasn't renting that, but the lift tickets were a luxury we really couldn't afford, considering he had been out of a job for months before getting this one. Now that I think about it, I wonder if some of that money went to entertaining the woman he was sleeping with. That never occurred to me until right now. Excellent.<br />
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I still watch the X Games when I can. But I don't sit there crying and missing the thought of Ex standing beside a camera and expecting me to be able to see him. What an idiot. <br />
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Marcy Applhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607916542404661599noreply@blogger.com1