Surviving isn't enough.

Sometimes it feels like everything is crashing down. Even when it’s not. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is turning upside down. You’re supposed to realize that your problems are nothing when compared to the bigger issues. Realizing this doesn’t help. It makes you feel smaller and ineffective and even more worthless than you already feel.

I can’t fix my dad. I couldn’t make him love me the way I needed to be loved and I can’t cure his cancer so he can live long enough to maybe figure it out. I can’t make him want to know his granddaughters and I can’t make him interested in my life. I can’t make him hug me in a way that doesn’t make him lightly shove me away like my very touch burns him.
I can’t forgive him for never being there and I can’t stop wishing that he was.



For my dad, there is no cure. There’s only postponing the inevitable. Which only makes sense if you’re actually living in the interim. I wonder what living is for him. For me, it means being grateful for one more chance to lay next to my husband watching a movie or playing Name That Song. One more chance to talk to my mom for hours about nothing and everything. One more chance to cause a ruckus with my best friend or rub her back and reassure her as we always do for each other during a crisis. Mostly, it would mean one more chance to giggle with my kids, to tell them I love them, to whisper the incredible experiences they’ll have whether I’m here to witness them or not. In short, living is family and people and giving more than you take.

I wonder if he goes through these awful treatments over and over in the hopes that if he sticks around long enough he’ll actually figure out how to live.

Parenting for Fucktards 101

1.) When you are told that your four year old child has Pneumonia, do not respond with, "Annnnd what am *I* supposed to do about it?"

2.) DO ask if the child is alright.

3.) DO show an interest in the child's treatment. Does the child need to go to the hospital? What medications is the child supposed to be taking? What other special instructions did the doctor give? If you don't know the answers to these questions, you are a completely self-centered douche bag and should surrender all parenting rights now.

4.) DO NOT refuse to come home because the child's mother is being "touchy." If you had to live with someone of such small empathy and compassion, you'd be a little fucking touchy too.

5.) DO NOT bounce from friend's house to friend's house just so you don't have to actually fucking be a parent.

6.) DO NOT say that the reason you didn't ask about your child's well-being is because your wife is SuperMom and can handle anything. If she can handle anything, then she doesn't need your sorry ass. Take your walking papers and go move in with your parents like every other failure.

7.) DO NOT say, "Call me when you think I won't be an ass anymore." You sound like an idiot. And guess what, she won't call you because she KNOWS that day will NEVER come. And as you mentioned before you fucktarded asshat, she's SuperMom and doesn't need your worthless "help."

8.) DO NOT say that you will stay at home with the child as long as you don't have to work. You own your own fucking business A-hole. You make your own fucking hours. And your wife only works five hours. And it's fucking Wednesday. You can't tell your customers that your kid has Pneumonia and there's a total of ten fucking hours that you can't be at their beck and call for the next two days? Your business is open 24 fucking hours you ass! Prioritize!

9.) When your sick child is crying and asking for daddy, don't tell your wife that she can handle it. Get your sorry ass home and comfort the child who is so naive that she can't yet tell that she has the sorriest piece of shit father to ever walk the earth.

10.) If you are such a prick that your wife has to make a list like this, reexamine your methods of parenting and make changes immediately. Because you Sir, are a Fucktard and don't deserve to lick the dirt your child pees upon.

All My Loving

I don't write when I'm happy. I get so caught up in savoring the blissful moments, that I forget to commemorate them. Looking at my journals, blogs and diaries over the years, it looks like I've had a pretty hellish life. Really, I've had a loved life spotted with hellish moments. I guess I just don't need the cathartic release when I'm content.

Things have been good. So good that our fights have been normal (mostly) husband and wife arguments and have occurred in a mature (mostly) manner. I'm not on edge. I'm not thrashing through the night with nightmares. I'm not crying over nothing. It's a decent place to be.

A few weeks ago, I was rocking our four year old H to sleep. It's something I hadn't done in months so when she asked for the extra cuddle time, I was eager to oblige. She had just drifted off to sleep when the husband did something completely unexpected- he sang to me.

I'm a musical girl. As a kid I could pick up any instrument and pick out a familiar song within the hour. I sang for talent shows and in community musicals. I was always attracted to anyone who could play an instrument or carry a tune. I always had the fantasy that some special guy would randomly jump up on stage (or a table) and belt out a tune dedicated to me. The husband is terrified of singing, so the dream died a little when I married him.

I had just rocked H to sleep when "All My Loving'" started playing on our stereo. It's always been a favorite and I was feeling so loving towards the husband at the moment that I thought it was fortuitous. When he actually sat in front of us and started to sing it (loudly!) to me, I giggled. When I realized that he was REALLY singing and the whole thing was planned, I cried.

Moments of such unselfishness with him are rare. It took him a week to memorize all the lyrics (he's not exactly musically inclined) and he was waiting for the perfect moment. It may seem small to anyone else, but it was a dream fulfilled and one of the sweetest moments we've ever shared.

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you,
Tomorrow I'll miss you;
Remember I'll always be true.
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And I'll send all my loving to you.

I'll pretend That I'm kissing
the lips I am missing
And hope that my dreams will come true.
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And I'll send all my loving to you.

All my loving I will send to you.
All my loving, darling I'll be true.

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you,
Tomorrow I'll miss you:
Remember I'll always be true.
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And I'll send all my loving to you

All my loving I will send to you.
All my loving darling I'll be True.
All my loving All my loving ooh
All my loving I will send to you

Situational Narcolepsy

Manics typically don't sleep much. They're usually pumped so full of adrenaline that sleep isn't an easy thing to come by. According to the husband, he can lay in bed for hours and never feel tired.

Except when we need to talk.

The second we sit down to talk about us or the children or anything that doesn't involve daily schematics, his eyes start closing. If I'm looking for emotion or any sort of participation other than the occasional grunt, he loses consciousness.

But guess what?

The second I say "fuck it" and leave the room, his eyes pop open and he can magically play computer games again! It's a genuine fucking miracle!

In short, the guy is a douche. And if he is too rough with my kids or tells me to fuck off one more time I'm going to do things to his body that will ensure procreation to be an absolute impossibility for him.

I am tired of talking to a catatonic brick wall.

I deserve so much more than a self-absorbed selfish child who can't treat his family with respect for more than a week's amount of time.

I am so full of venom toward that apathetic asshole that it's frightening.

Fuck.

Marital Counseling Part 1

"Your husband is a very angry man isn't he?"

The therapist's opening line was more of a statement than a question. Jeez. She zeroed in on Mr. Liar Liar Pants on Fire after one session? This chick is good. I nodded with my head down. "Very," I said.

"Do you love him?"

Her stare was piercing while I squirmed. What the hell kind of question was that? Of course I love him... don't I? I mean, why would I put up with everything if I didn't? "Fear," said my head. "Of course I love him," said my mouth. "Sometimes, anyway. He makes it very hard sometimes. Most times."

She nodded. I had the feeling that nothing I could say would surprise her. Just looking at the other patients in the lobby was enough to confirm that suspicion. Adult men rocking and twitching uncontrollably while their elderly mothers made soothing sounds or ignored them entirely. People who smelled like they belonged in the Victorian era where bathing was an option. Women with fewer teeth than limbs, who shouted at staff, other patients and the murals on the walls. They eyed my jewelry hungrily and I had an urge to say, "Fashion Bug, $4.75. Knock yourselves out."

It was an intake session. One of those wasted hours where you sign endless consent forms that are swiped by you too quickly to read and where you answer questions like, "How often were you abused as a child?" and "How would you kill yourself?"

My favorite question was, "If you ate or drank too much of something unhealthy, what would you do?" Shit. How does she know I usually spend Saturday nights eating a plate of Filiberto's nachos the size of my head? I said, "Wait for it to pass. Take an Alka Seltzer. I don't know." What the hell kind of question is that anyway? Does she really think I'm going to eat arsenic pellets or something? Oh wait, look at the rest of her clientele. No wonder she's asking me these inane questions.

Finally she asked THE questions. The ones that determine the truth about my household. "Do you feel safe? Do you think the kids are safe?"

Fuck I hate those two questions. I can either lie and waste everyone's time, or I can answer truthfully and reveal what a shitty mother I truly am. I chose to be truthful. I've been feeling a lack of time lately. Wasting is no longer an option.

"Sometimes I feel safe. Sometimes I feel like there's nothing I could do that would make him hurt me, or us. And sometimes he's a completely different person. The quintessential Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Those are the days that I feel like I could do the smallest thing and end up with a concussion. Those are the days we leave. I usually pile them in the car and we drive around or stay with a friend. He never leaves. He's too stubborn and never admits that he's done wrong until his manic episode has passed. It's best to leave and let him come to his own conclusions. So sometimes I feel safe. Today I feel safe. Tomorrow I might not."

She gave me that piercing stare again, "Do you believe that you need anything for your mood or emotions at this point?"

"No, I don't. Everything else in my life is great. My girls are wonderful, work is fantastic, my friends are supportive, money is getting better. It's just him. It's just him."

I held my breath while I waited for her to disagree. I thought for sure she was going to tell me that I'm crazy just like the husband does whenever he's angry with me. "I agree with you. I think you are handling a very hard situation the best way you can."

And we ended the session. She said it will be at least a couple of months before he joins us. She said that he obviously needs to work on many things himself and that she and I needed to come up with solutions and strategies for me.

So there you have it: A clean bill of mental health and one completely fucked marriage.






Here's a quote my friend B posted today:

Unless it’s mad, passionate, extraordinary love, It’s a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life. Love shouldn’t be one of them.

Which of course begs the question: What the fuck am I doing here?

Dear God

So tonight the sermon at church was, "Where Were You?"

Indeed.

The question alone gave me goosebumps, tears that wouldn't be quelled and a quivering chin.

So many times I've wondered, where were You?

When the husband slapped D, where were You?

When I got that horrible phone call from her preschool to tell me that she had bruises shaped like hand prints on her face, where were You?

When I had to tell my boss why I needed to leave immediately, where were You?

When I drove to the preschool shaking and sobbing, where were You?

When she was lying in the office, vomiting and crying and shaking, where were You?

When I scooped her up in my arms and rocked her while the staff called the police, where were You?

When I called the husband to ask him why, where were You?

When he denied everything, where were You?

When I had to give interviews to the police and CPS, where were You?

When I had to hold D for evidence photos, where were You?

When she was sobbing behind the couch and refusing to answer questions, where were You?

When D and I lay in bed at night and held each other and cried, where were You?

When the husband was banned from the home by the police and I wanted to torture him, bloody him, tear him limb from limb, where were You?

When my sister asked for D back after I had raised her all those years, where were You?

While I asked myself how I had let this happen, where were You?

When I knew that I hadn't been able to protect my precious D, where were You?

God, where were You?













You held D when I couldn't.

When I could, You held us both.

You helped me make the twenty mile drive when I couldn't see through my tears.

You gave me strength to take care of H and A and to shield them from our reality.

You held my hand while I spoke to officers and caseworkers.

You gave me the words to say so they knew how badly I wished I had protected her.

You held me through my shock and despair.

You gave D peace and the incredible gift of forgiveness.

You gave me Your Word and showed me the truth of redemption and the healing of forgiveness.

You sat next to me at the trial and held me up while I spoke at the stand.

You sat with me through those long, lonely nights while the husband was banned from our home during court proceedings.

You comforted D while she cried at the window each time her daddy came to take A and H for a visit.

You were there while D discovered a faith that has brought her through each storm we've weathered.

You gave me the words to say to convince my sister that D would indeed be safe with me. Through any means necessary.













I don't understand Your ways. I don't understand why mental illness exists and why You allow children to be hurt by those that are meant to protect them. I don't understand so many things. But I know that I'm not alone. And that even in my deepest despair, You are there for me and You love me when I'm incapable of loving myself.

And for this I am eternally grateful.

Financial Whiz Kid

I am irate right now. I'm writing so I don't put arsenic in the husband's stupid Dr. Thunder. (I don't really have arsenic. But sometimes I wish I did. Sorta.)

Two years ago we were in great financial shape. Our credit score was somewhere in the high 700's and our only debt were cars with low interest rates and our house. In a year's time, the husband made a string of terrible decisions that fucked us royally and ended with us filing bankruptcy. Welcome to the financial hell of Bipolar.

Now we own our own business. And the Financial Fucktard is back at it again.

I just got off the phone with him. And he's lucky the conversation wasn't it in person. Here's how it went down:


Husband: I just bought lettering for my truck. It was a great deal. Only a couple hundred dollars.

Wife: Dude, that's a lot.

H: It's great advertising. Oh and I also bought (insert stupid technical crap here). They were under a hundred dollars individually. A great deal.

W: Didn't you just tell me yesterday that the business is barely covering bills right now and that there is only a couple hundred dollars extra a month? I think we need to stick to the bare necessities for a while and build up a nest egg just in case.

H: These are the bare necessities. I need them.

W: You can't run the business without them?

H: No.

W: You've been buying a lot of things lately that are not necessities.

H: Like what? (Yelling)

W: Don't yell at me. I can't keep track of all these different stories you keep giving me. It's bullshit. Last week you said we were doing so well that you wanted me to stay home again and you'd pay me to do paperwork. Then last night you said we were barely making it. That's three different stories in just a few days. I don't want you buying anything until we really discuss what the real situation is.

H: Look, we're making a couple hundred extra a week. Not a month. Okay?

W: What's so wrong with building up a nest egg in case there's a bad month or two?

H: There won't be. If there is I'll just work harder.

W: So all the people who have been struggling with the recession just need to work harder?

H: They just made bad choices. I'll work harder.

W: You're not impervious.

H: I don't think I'm impervious.

W: Well you seem to think it can't happen to you. Why didn't you work harder when we had the cars repossessed? Or had foreclosure notices posted on the garage door? You just weren't working hard enough? Why is having a nest egg such a terrible request?

H: I'm sick of your bullshit. I'll talk to you when I come home.

W: I'm so disappointed in you.

*Click*




I hear they're doing great things with cardboard boxes nowadays.