Well, this is day three here in my prison. I call being locked in my room away from my family my prison. I also call in The Witch’s Cave. So in the future is you see me saying anything about The Witch’s Cave, that’s my room.
This is the only bedroom in the house with a working lock. The bathroom also has a lock but it also has a big hole in the door. That was made by my husband kicking the door in when I was having a depressive episode and took half a bottle of two of my medications and I was sitting there with a pair of surgical scissors thinking about how it would feel if I dragged the sharp ends across my skin.
That was four years ago and I’ve learned to control that part of me. *More on that down below*
I’ve never told a single person about this before because I’m so embarrassed now and this is a part of me that I don’t share with ANYBODY!!
I feel safe enough to write all of my experiences, both good and bad, here in my blog. The anonymity of the Internet is somewhat refreshing. I expect that someone along the lines will figure out who I am but I will cross that bridge when I come to it. I usually don’t think suicidal thoughts at all. Of course, there are times I really do think about dying and just giving up my fight. When I’m like that, I think how nice it would be to not be able to have to deal with all of my pain and all of these psycho thoughts and delusions and fears that plague me.
But would I really do it? I don’t think so. In fact, I’m 100% positive that I would not. When I get like this, I think the only thing that really keeps me from ending my life are my two beautiful boys.
What would they do without me? How would they be able to live their lives happy knowing what there mother did. That she abandoned them by taking the easy way out. It’s such a hard path to be on.
I sat on the floor of my bathroom for hours today. Crying my eyes out without any sound so no one could hear me. Just contemplating my life.
Of course, it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it sometimes. And I think with my bipolar and Schizoaffective that it is quite natural to have moments of weakness and moments of helplessness of wanting to just give up the fight and leave it all behind to have a peaceful eternal slumber.
It would be lovely to not be scared of my shadow and not to be on this fuckload of meds. But my kids are worth more to me than the death that I wish for sometimes. I constantly wonder, how my life looks in other people’s eyes. Do they think that I have it easy? Do they think that I have nothing going on for myself? Or are they fascinated with who I really am?
The thing is, that no one will ever know my whole story. No one will ever know the things that I’ve had to overcome just to get where I am today.
No one will ever know that my days are long and my nights are even longer. No one will ever know that I’m not what they really see. Not my family. Not even my closest friends.
The thing is, that so many people are so quick to judge nowadays that it’s quite impossible to show them your dark side. No one wants to see that. No one wants to deal with that and have to struggle to come up with a suitable reply. They really only see a person for what they want and allow you to see because it’s too hard to know who to trust. That’s a sure fire way to lose friends and have friends gossip and spill your deepest darkest secrets.
I always try to look as put together as possible when I’m around family, friends, and peers. I’m always smiling and laughing and trying to hide my true self. That’s my way of trying to fit in during that moment.
It’s just that this way, everyone will assume that everything is fine and dandy and all unicorns and rainbows going on in my life. That I never go through any hell or torment.
If only everyone could know and see how broken that I really am. If they could only see that I’m holding on for dear life on a thinning strand. The last little strand that has recently become so delicate now that it’s unraveling quicker.
The truth is, that no one really knows me. No one will ever know me. No one wants to deal with the harsh reality of how my life really is. And the truth is that that scares the fuck out of me.
This is a photo of me and my husband. I literally LOVE this man to death!! I cannot imagine my life without him. We have a very long history that is muddied with lots of heartache, lots of fighting, lots of struggling, and most importantly, lots of true love.
I met him when I was 19. He was 30. We were engaged. We were pregnant. We had a beautiful baby boy together. He kicked me and my ten day old baby boy out of his apartment so he could get back together with his ex-wife (who he had also been cheating on me with). This was my first love. It was devastatingly heart wrenching to be sucker punched right in the gut over this. It ruined me from being with anyone else for over two years. It made me not trust anyone.
I did move on and got married to my first husband three years later. That marriage ended amicably after 12 years and 14 years of being together. I I am happy for that marriage in the fact that it gave my Mini-Me to me and it also taught me how to be a wife and to be able to take care of myself And my children.
Well, fast forward to four and a half years ago. After having no contact whatsoever from my first love (and Man-Boy’s father), he found me online. I was ready to move back home and I did.
We’ve been together since then but the heartache continued. We went through a years separation after only being married for a year. He hurt me. He was addicted to online chat/flirt/cybersex sites. He said it wasn’t cheating. It was. It most definitely was. He gave it up eventually but we still had a lot of problems.
We both got to the point where we hurt each other deeply. We completely broke each other down to nothing but pieces and then had to decide if it was worth trying to put those pieces together. We agreed to try.
During this time. During the year split, is when my mental health began to deteriorate. I actually split personalities. I did things. Manic reckless things and I had no control over it all.
I cried and cried that I needed help. I cried because I couldn’t keep this other personality under my control anymore. I made the decision to go see a psychiatrist for the first time ever in my life. This was the best decision I’ve ever made.
My husband and I still have more bad days than good. I know it’s mostly my fault because my moods are still not under control. I get emotional and cry over the stupidest things and then I go running to my cave and stay there for days without coming out except when absolutely necessary. What I’m getting at is that this marriage is taking a lot of work. This marriage, this partnership, leaves much to be desired. It’s a daily battle.
He tries to understand me but he just doesn’t get it. Between my fibromyalgia, RA, Bipolar, and Schizoaffective he doesn’t know how to act towards me. Something is always hurting and bothering me. I really think in my heart that he believes that I’m faking it all.
I try to tell him what’s bothering me and he cuts me off or looks disinterested. We fight constantly. He walks on egg shells around me because he never knows when I will explode.
I HATE being like this. All I want is for him to stop me, take me in his arms, look me in the face, and tell me that it will be okay, that he’s there for me. That he will help me work through it. But he doesn’t. Never. And then there I go locking myself in my cave.
Then he says that I’m trying to play the victim. Excuse me. I AM the victim! I’m a victim of my own disease. BUT, he’s a victim too. He’s the victim of my madness. He didn’t ask to have this shoved into his face.
I know it cannot be easy not knowing what to do when your wife is having a nervous breakdown. 😦 It makes me feel like absolute SHIT!! I just wish that he could see how much that I love and need him! This is me on a good day. They don’t come often at all. This was two weeks ago. Last time I was happy.
Peace, Love, and Forgiveness, Cloudy XXOO