You use to hold the door for me
Now you can't wait to leave
You use to send me flowers if
You fucked up in my dreams
I use to make you laugh
With all the silly shit I did
Now you roll your eyes and
Walk away and shake your head
When the spark has gone and the candles are out
And the song is done and there's no more sound
Whispers turn to yelling and I'm thinking
[Chorus:]
How do we get so mean? How do we just move on?
How do you feel in the morning
When it comes and everything's undone?
Is it 'cause we wanna be free? Well that's not me.
Normally I'm so strong
I just can't wake up on the floor
Like a thousand times before
Knowing that forever won't be
I'm always sentimental when I think of how it was
When love was sweet and new and we just couldn't get enough
The shower, it reminds me you'd undress me with your eyes
And now you never touch me and you tell me that you're tired
You know it gets so sad when it all goes bad
And all you think about is all the fun you've had
And all those "sorry"'s ain't never gonna mean a thing
[Chorus]
I know we said some things that we can never take back
It's like a train wreck trying to hit the right track
We opened up the wine and we just let it breathe
But we should've drank it down while it was still sweet
It all goes bad eventually
Now do we stay together 'cause we're scared to be alone
We got so used to this abuse it kind of feels like home
But my baby I just really wanna know oh.
This is my my life as I search for inner peace. Will I find the light before it finds me?
Showing posts with label Divorce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Divorce. Show all posts
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Calming Down
The craziness that has been my life for so long seems to be finally calming down.
The debilitating female health issues that have been plaguing me for the past 9 months are almost completely taken care of, the grueling, time consuming, intense four months of National Ski Patrol (NSP), Outdoor Emergency Care (OEC) classes and final exams are over and, let's not forget, the future of my marriage was finally decided by the other half. Although I disagree with his decision from the bottom of my heart, I also know that there is nothing I can do to change his mind.
I've written several posts about Henry and how I have always believed he was the 'Love of My Life' and my 'Soul Mate', and I will forever stand by those. All of the billions of moments we declared "forever" to each other and that we were "in love for the last time in our lives" (the latter from the movie "Murphy's Romance"), I now have to live with the gut-wrenching reality that it's over.
My mind cannot even begin to wrap around the idea of Henry walking out of my life because that has never been my mindset. It has never even been a fleeting thought. I cannot remember there never being an "us". HenryAndCarrie. CarrieAndHenry. Never one without the other and we loved being that way.
My brain has always been my worst enemy because of it being Bipolar. Replaying all the wonderful memories that I have of Henry and me has made it absolutely unbearable. Taking it to the nth degree of excruciating is the fact that Henry holds so many memories of mine that I lost/never registered because of Electro-Convulsive Therapy.
When he leaves, he takes my memories with him...
The debilitating female health issues that have been plaguing me for the past 9 months are almost completely taken care of, the grueling, time consuming, intense four months of National Ski Patrol (NSP), Outdoor Emergency Care (OEC) classes and final exams are over and, let's not forget, the future of my marriage was finally decided by the other half. Although I disagree with his decision from the bottom of my heart, I also know that there is nothing I can do to change his mind.
I've written several posts about Henry and how I have always believed he was the 'Love of My Life' and my 'Soul Mate', and I will forever stand by those. All of the billions of moments we declared "forever" to each other and that we were "in love for the last time in our lives" (the latter from the movie "Murphy's Romance"), I now have to live with the gut-wrenching reality that it's over.
My mind cannot even begin to wrap around the idea of Henry walking out of my life because that has never been my mindset. It has never even been a fleeting thought. I cannot remember there never being an "us". HenryAndCarrie. CarrieAndHenry. Never one without the other and we loved being that way.
My brain has always been my worst enemy because of it being Bipolar. Replaying all the wonderful memories that I have of Henry and me has made it absolutely unbearable. Taking it to the nth degree of excruciating is the fact that Henry holds so many memories of mine that I lost/never registered because of Electro-Convulsive Therapy.
When he leaves, he takes my memories with him...
Friday, July 30, 2010
Scattered Thoughts & Happenings
The following are scattered thoughts and happenings from July 28th to the wee hours of July 31st.
A few days ago I had an appointment at my local Social Security Administration office to apply for SSI benefits for Hunter. My first impressions were quite unfavorable because the amount of parking places developed for the stand-alone building did not even come close to meeting, much less exceeding, the number actually needed.
Ironically enough, after my Jeep and I created our own parking space next to a curb, the number of seats available for consumers also fell far below the number of people, in reality, that were occupying the tiny waiting room. In short, the Government expected way too much of the small spaces they were trying to cram people and vehicles into.
My appointment was for 1:30 p.m. and thankfully they ran pretty close to on-schedule.
My name was called, I was shown to a window with a chair and then introduced to two women. The first, a new employee, and the second her mentor. My first impressions immediately flipped upside down and found both women to be both very friendly and extremely helpful.
In the end Hunter was denied benefits for three reasons. The first, my understanding is, that the facility he is currently in is classified (not sure of the reason for needing a "classification") as an "institution". Secondly, the facility receives more than 50% of their money from Medicaid and lastly, Medicaid would take the sporadic child support money I receive for him (considered income for Hunter) and give him $37 per MONTH in return for personal incidentals (shampoo, toothpaste, etc.).
On that same day I had a follow-up appointment with my Endocrinologist. My parathyroid and calcium levels are still too high and he explained that by increasing my daily intake of Vitamin D to 3,000 mg three months ago, these levels should come down. Memo to you, Doc ~ they're NOT coming down. My thyroid level is acceptable which means the Hashimoto's disease is not progressing at a very fast pace but my calcium and parathyroid levels are still way to high and I feel like crap!
As usual, they drew five (5) tubes of blood to check my parathyroids, thyroid, calcium, and ionized calcium. I return to him in three months.
Again, on the same day, I received an unexpected blessing in the form of money (child support) from Hunter's dad. Because I was not added to the new bank account Henry opened, and I have not received a paycheck in four weeks and won't receive another one for approximately four more weeks, I have been relying on child support to pay for things for Hunter and incidentals (and gas to get back and forth to visit Hunter) for myself.
This blessing could not have come at a more perfect time. Honestly.
After making this wonderful discovery, I stopped at the office supply store and, quite sadly, purchased a do-it-yourself "Divorce Kit"...
There are "86,400 seconds in a day so we have to live like we're dying."
When you leave, you take my memories with you...
In the wee morning hours of July 29th, Henry finally admitted out loud to me that he wanted a divorce.
Shredded, devastated, deflated, betrayed, overwhelmed, sad, paralyzed, afraid, bawl bag, losing my best friend and LOML, I won't make sense, exhausted, relieved that limbo is finally over. OMG...
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG ... these words resound loudly in my head. I cannot believe this is happening.
For the first time in a very long time, Henry and I talked. I mean really talked. He finally shared that for the past 2 1/2 years, since around January 2008 -- when I lost my job -- Henry has felt that this marriage "just wasn't worth it anymore". Sadly, I had only been feeling something was amiss for the past year or so.
The mother of a very dear friend of mine (my high school sweetheart, to be exact - we've known each other almost 30 years and have stayed in touch off and on) had a brain tumor removed recently.
A few days ago the doctor's discovered a brain bleed. She has a heart condition (including a defibrillator) and takes Coumadin (a blood thinner).
My understanding is that due to these two things, and her overall health, they can do nothing for her. She has been in and out of consciousness since then.
Thursday night the family must have felt a little bit of hope when Roberta managed to see a little bit of j-ello, pudding, and mashed potatoes and gravy.
Last night I traded text messages with Tom and he mentioned his mother was now home (I'm assuming it's because there is nothing else the doctor's can do) and that she was next expected to last through the weekend.
My heart breaks for one of my oldest and dearest friends and I pray that God gives him and his family what they need to get through this devastating time.
During "the" talk Henry and I had the other night I asked him if it was okay if I kept my married name. This question, coming on the heels of two requests I made of him that threw him into complete anger, he told me he had to think about it. A pain shot through my heart and I let the question drop. In all the marriages I've had, this particular last name is the one that feels like home. Later, Henry apologized for his reaction to that question and told me he felt flattered that I wanted to keep his last name and that it was okay if I did.
Late Thursday, July 30th.
Feeling little clarity today. Seems some of the fog has lifted from my brain and I can actually feel my pores breathing for a change. The pain is inexplicable and untouchable, and it feels like I'm drowning, yet I see a snorkel in the distance. Does that mean a tank is not far behind?
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
A few days ago I had an appointment at my local Social Security Administration office to apply for SSI benefits for Hunter. My first impressions were quite unfavorable because the amount of parking places developed for the stand-alone building did not even come close to meeting, much less exceeding, the number actually needed.
Ironically enough, after my Jeep and I created our own parking space next to a curb, the number of seats available for consumers also fell far below the number of people, in reality, that were occupying the tiny waiting room. In short, the Government expected way too much of the small spaces they were trying to cram people and vehicles into.
My appointment was for 1:30 p.m. and thankfully they ran pretty close to on-schedule.
My name was called, I was shown to a window with a chair and then introduced to two women. The first, a new employee, and the second her mentor. My first impressions immediately flipped upside down and found both women to be both very friendly and extremely helpful.
In the end Hunter was denied benefits for three reasons. The first, my understanding is, that the facility he is currently in is classified (not sure of the reason for needing a "classification") as an "institution". Secondly, the facility receives more than 50% of their money from Medicaid and lastly, Medicaid would take the sporadic child support money I receive for him (considered income for Hunter) and give him $37 per MONTH in return for personal incidentals (shampoo, toothpaste, etc.).
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
On that same day I had a follow-up appointment with my Endocrinologist. My parathyroid and calcium levels are still too high and he explained that by increasing my daily intake of Vitamin D to 3,000 mg three months ago, these levels should come down. Memo to you, Doc ~ they're NOT coming down. My thyroid level is acceptable which means the Hashimoto's disease is not progressing at a very fast pace but my calcium and parathyroid levels are still way to high and I feel like crap!
As usual, they drew five (5) tubes of blood to check my parathyroids, thyroid, calcium, and ionized calcium. I return to him in three months.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Again, on the same day, I received an unexpected blessing in the form of money (child support) from Hunter's dad. Because I was not added to the new bank account Henry opened, and I have not received a paycheck in four weeks and won't receive another one for approximately four more weeks, I have been relying on child support to pay for things for Hunter and incidentals (and gas to get back and forth to visit Hunter) for myself.
This blessing could not have come at a more perfect time. Honestly.
After making this wonderful discovery, I stopped at the office supply store and, quite sadly, purchased a do-it-yourself "Divorce Kit"...
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"Slap that horse in the ass; with my last dying gasp my brother could hear me say
Give me some water 'cause I shot a man on the Mexican border
Cool, cool water
Give me some water"
(Eddie Money)
Give me some water 'cause I shot a man on the Mexican border
Cool, cool water
Give me some water"
(Eddie Money)
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
There are "86,400 seconds in a day so we have to live like we're dying."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
When you leave, you take my memories with you...
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
In the wee morning hours of July 29th, Henry finally admitted out loud to me that he wanted a divorce.
Shredded, devastated, deflated, betrayed, overwhelmed, sad, paralyzed, afraid, bawl bag, losing my best friend and LOML, I won't make sense, exhausted, relieved that limbo is finally over. OMG...
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG ... these words resound loudly in my head. I cannot believe this is happening.
For the first time in a very long time, Henry and I talked. I mean really talked. He finally shared that for the past 2 1/2 years, since around January 2008 -- when I lost my job -- Henry has felt that this marriage "just wasn't worth it anymore". Sadly, I had only been feeling something was amiss for the past year or so.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
The mother of a very dear friend of mine (my high school sweetheart, to be exact - we've known each other almost 30 years and have stayed in touch off and on) had a brain tumor removed recently.
A few days ago the doctor's discovered a brain bleed. She has a heart condition (including a defibrillator) and takes Coumadin (a blood thinner).
My understanding is that due to these two things, and her overall health, they can do nothing for her. She has been in and out of consciousness since then.
Thursday night the family must have felt a little bit of hope when Roberta managed to see a little bit of j-ello, pudding, and mashed potatoes and gravy.
Last night I traded text messages with Tom and he mentioned his mother was now home (I'm assuming it's because there is nothing else the doctor's can do) and that she was next expected to last through the weekend.
My heart breaks for one of my oldest and dearest friends and I pray that God gives him and his family what they need to get through this devastating time.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
During "the" talk Henry and I had the other night I asked him if it was okay if I kept my married name. This question, coming on the heels of two requests I made of him that threw him into complete anger, he told me he had to think about it. A pain shot through my heart and I let the question drop. In all the marriages I've had, this particular last name is the one that feels like home. Later, Henry apologized for his reaction to that question and told me he felt flattered that I wanted to keep his last name and that it was okay if I did.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Late Thursday, July 30th.
Feeling little clarity today. Seems some of the fog has lifted from my brain and I can actually feel my pores breathing for a change. The pain is inexplicable and untouchable, and it feels like I'm drowning, yet I see a snorkel in the distance. Does that mean a tank is not far behind?
Friday, July 6, 2007
Falling Apart
Connor, my second son from my second marriage. He was ten months old when I left him and his father in order to have a nervous breakdown that had been brewing for years. Ex-husband "M" likes to throw that in my face and tell me that the reason I left them was so I could party all the time and sleep around. His big ego and even bigger pride won't allow him to admit that he was dumped because he was a monster.
Moments before I walked down the aisle my best girlfriend said to me "it's not too late to change your mind". She was absolutely correct because I already knew I was making a huge mistake. But I married him anyway. On Sweetest's Day, 1992. By January of 1993 I started making plans, behind his back, to move out and file for divorce. Then fate stepped in and I broke my leg so badly that it took surgery to attach a plate and a bunch of screws and eight weeks in a cast to put all the pieces together again. I felt like a caged animal and my resentment toward him continued growing but at a much faster pace.
As was typical in the latter stages of our relationship, I only had sex with him for two reasons: to shut him up or when he gave me no choice by pinning me to the bed. With my broken leg painfully encased in a hot pink cast, and in an instance of shut-him-up-sex, Connor was conceived. All the plans I had made to move out and move on came crashing down around me. We were going to have a baby, three-year-old Matthew was going to be a big brother, how could I possibly leave now? The thought of staying in the marriage for the baby's sake ran in a constant loop through my brain.
I kept telling myself that things would get better and I could somehow make the marriage work. I was still telling myself that even after he shoved my six-months pregnant body into the pink bathroom wall. Stay in it for the baby. Stay in it for the baby. I was still telling myself that every time he pinned me to the bed and, nose to nose, screamed all my faults, insecurities and everything I lacked in my face. He knew all my weak spots and stabbed and jabbed at them frequently and repeatedly. "M" was (probably still is) a power junkie and an egomaniac. Whatever possession he owned was, of course, the best. Clothing, cars, jewelry -- he truly believed, was better than anyone elses. He still does.
He was never shy about telling me he could have any woman he wanted whenever he wanted them. I'm pretty sure he thought that by telling me about the women falling at his feet that I would have sex with him more often out of fear he would stray. He.was.wrong.
When I met him I was a single, bipolar, un-medicated mother of a toddler. He was, of course, charming and disarming in the beginning. He unleashed my un-medicated bipolar demon when he started trying to control me and certain aspects of my life. The harder he tried to control me, the harder I fought for my independence. We were masters at manipulating each other to get what we wanted. It was a constant tug-of-war and totally toxic.
Shortly after Connor's birth I started seeing a therapist again and went back on medication. We never did find the right mix and I continued in a downward spiral.
Finally, in March 1995, alone in my apartment one night after work, I swallowed a bottle of prescription antidepressants meds that I was sure would do me in. Imagine my disbelief when I woke up the next morning with what felt like an alcohol induced hangover complete with throbbing temples. Just like every other work day, I showered and dressed and drove to my office. I was on auto-pilot. I spoke to a co-worker who had become a close friend and she followed me, in her car, to the nearest hospital where I checked myself in for a psychiatric evaluation. Once I was registered and placed in an emergency triage room, where anything considered a potential threat to me was removed, she left and returned to work.
I don't remember how much time passed in the emergency room before I was moved to their psychiatric unit upstairs. Most of what happened within that locked unit over the next two weeks is a (drug-induced) smoky memory and the fallout with "M", as well as the father of Matthew was a nightmare and I only remember the most painful parts.
"M" received a promotion within the company he worked for (requiring a relocation a month before we married) and we had moved from an area we grew up in, where we had family and friends close by, to a town more than two hours away.
When I moved out, the company I worked for was just finishing a brand new R&D facility so I found an inexpensive apartment close to it. I was still more than an hour and a half from my family and although I had never counted on any of them before for emotional support, I was suddenly aching for my parents to rally around me when I started to pick up the pieces after my attempted suicide. I vaguely remember my mom making the almost two-hour drive to visit me once in the psychiatric unit. I don't remember the contents of the visit but I do remember how absolutely devastated I was that she was - and would always be - emotionally absent from my life. My dad is just as, if not more, emotionally absent from my life, too.
Over the past 12 years I have attempted to tear down the emotional bridges between my parents and myself a few times. Although I knew in my head that I would be hurt and disappointed every time, my heart still held onto hope that somehow we would find a way to close this huge gap between us. These efforts to become closer to my parents causes my husband a great deal of frustration because he knows the outcome will never change, but he still catches me when I fail and holds me as I lick the old wounds, yet again.
Henry knows vivid details of why my family is so dysfunctional. My need to have my parents close to me often overrides my memories of what a monster my 6'2" tall dad was to my three older brothers and my mom. The same need overrides my memories of my 5' tall mother sitting quietly at the dinner table while my dad unleashed his intense fury on the bodies of my brothers. What I didn't know was that during that same time period, my father was also abusing my mother -- only he did it behind closed doors.
My need for a deeper relationship with the people who brought me into this world makes me gloss over everything they did wrong or didn't do at all and that drives my husband crazy.
My most recent attempt to bring my mom and I to a common emotional ground happened the day after my oldest sons graduation party at his father's house on June 23rd. I made the same mistake again in pouring out my heart to her about how awful I felt in the way I was ignored. Instead of saying something helpful like "I know that must hurt", she does what she always does and tries to talk me out of my emotions.
The night before the party was blogging like crazy, trying to release the anxiety I was feeling about being around people who know only one side of my psychiatric hospitalizations. Who only knew I left my two boys with their respective fathers and tried to kill myself but didn't know why.
I was not successful in bringing these enormous feelings to the surface so I could let them out and regain control. Instead, it hit me full on while I was showering the next day, the day of the graduation party at Matthew's dads house. I collapsed against the wall and sobbed as quietly as I could but it still didn't take long for my husband to clue in to what was happening and climb in the shower behind me, to wrap me in his arms. When I thought I had my emotions under control, I exited the shower and started toweling myself dry. The full weight of my emotions was sitting on my chin and it started to quiver. In a heartbeat my eyes flooded with tears and I was sobbing all over again. The waterworks continued on and off for the next hour. It was finally safe to put my makeup on without fear of tears and a runny nose ruining it.
Our drive to Matthew's house was a quiet one. I was trying to use deep breathing exercises to keep my anxiety (and tears) under control. Henry and stepson were lost in their own little worlds, too.
Some of the people I saw that day I had not seen in about 15 years. Including Matthew's grandmother -- who was always so generous and good to me and him. I have never ever been in a situation where I felt so insignificant yet I was the elephant in the room. My son, although barely, was more gracious than his dad or step mom in introducing me around. One older guy, the cousin of Matthew's dad, started a conversation with my husband and me and when he asked who we were I told him I was Matthew's mother and he said Matthew? Who is that? I said the graduate, the reason why we are here for a graduation party.
The longer we stayed, and the less I was near Matthew, the more insignificant I felt. I was the elephant in the room that nobody would discuss. Oh, her? That's Matthew's egg donor. You know, the crazy one.
Matthew's stepmother spent a great deal of time putting together a really nice scrapbook for him as a graduation present. The first two pages were pictures I had sent to Dad's parents and Dad before the paternity test was completed and proved what we already knew that D was Matthew's father. Pictures from birth to sixth months of age when D held Matthew for the first time.
Every turn of a scrapbook page made my heart ache by bringing all the guilty feelings I've wrested with for years to the surface. At one point I thought I was suffocating because I couldn't breathe. Here were pieces of my first-born sons life that I had no part in.
All the time I missed by being in psychiatric units, every opportunity I had for visitation was done under close supervision. Although I had never hurt or attempted to hurt or even thought about hurting my kids, Matthew's dad had gone to court to strip away my physical custody of Matthew. I showed up at our regular meeting point and time to pick him up for a weekend visit and instead of seeing D and Matthew, I was met by a process server telling me D now had sole physical and legal custody and all visitations here on out would be supervised.
My husband, stepson and I stayed at the party for a more than reasonable amount of time. Finally I hit the wall where I would collapse in sobs if I didn't leave immediately.
My sister, although we have never been close, lived along the path of our way home and not far from my son's house. I called her and asked her if I could stop by. I told Henry I needed to make this stop NOW and that he and Jake should run up the store to return a few items we bought earlier that day but didn't use.
I walked through her door and collapsed on the couch in sobs. I doubt I made much sense at first but I had to vent some of these painful emotions before they consumed me. I couldn't believe that only one person at the party approached me to ask if I was Matthew's mother. She had always wanted to meet me and had felt guilty about not inviting me to her wedding where Matthew was the ring-bearer. She was very sweet and I could tell that she didn't get any support on inviting me to the wedding and that if she had there probably would have been a few unhappy people.
The word "insignificant" keeps stomping across my brain because that is exactly how I felt. Insignificant in a group of people where the son I gave birth to was the guest of honor. It didn't matter that for the five years of Matthew's life, I raised him by myself. Nobody from D's side of the family bothered to include me in family photographs assembled around Matthew. I had to actually reach out to Matthew's dad to ask if he would mind being photographed with Matthew and me. He didn't and it is now only the second picture in existence of the three of us together. The first picture is locked away in medical records of the hospital where we had the paternity test done.
"We are Family"
Moments before I walked down the aisle my best girlfriend said to me "it's not too late to change your mind". She was absolutely correct because I already knew I was making a huge mistake. But I married him anyway. On Sweetest's Day, 1992. By January of 1993 I started making plans, behind his back, to move out and file for divorce. Then fate stepped in and I broke my leg so badly that it took surgery to attach a plate and a bunch of screws and eight weeks in a cast to put all the pieces together again. I felt like a caged animal and my resentment toward him continued growing but at a much faster pace.
As was typical in the latter stages of our relationship, I only had sex with him for two reasons: to shut him up or when he gave me no choice by pinning me to the bed. With my broken leg painfully encased in a hot pink cast, and in an instance of shut-him-up-sex, Connor was conceived. All the plans I had made to move out and move on came crashing down around me. We were going to have a baby, three-year-old Matthew was going to be a big brother, how could I possibly leave now? The thought of staying in the marriage for the baby's sake ran in a constant loop through my brain.
I kept telling myself that things would get better and I could somehow make the marriage work. I was still telling myself that even after he shoved my six-months pregnant body into the pink bathroom wall. Stay in it for the baby. Stay in it for the baby. I was still telling myself that every time he pinned me to the bed and, nose to nose, screamed all my faults, insecurities and everything I lacked in my face. He knew all my weak spots and stabbed and jabbed at them frequently and repeatedly. "M" was (probably still is) a power junkie and an egomaniac. Whatever possession he owned was, of course, the best. Clothing, cars, jewelry -- he truly believed, was better than anyone elses. He still does.
He was never shy about telling me he could have any woman he wanted whenever he wanted them. I'm pretty sure he thought that by telling me about the women falling at his feet that I would have sex with him more often out of fear he would stray. He.was.wrong.
When I met him I was a single, bipolar, un-medicated mother of a toddler. He was, of course, charming and disarming in the beginning. He unleashed my un-medicated bipolar demon when he started trying to control me and certain aspects of my life. The harder he tried to control me, the harder I fought for my independence. We were masters at manipulating each other to get what we wanted. It was a constant tug-of-war and totally toxic.
Shortly after Connor's birth I started seeing a therapist again and went back on medication. We never did find the right mix and I continued in a downward spiral.
Finally, in March 1995, alone in my apartment one night after work, I swallowed a bottle of prescription antidepressants meds that I was sure would do me in. Imagine my disbelief when I woke up the next morning with what felt like an alcohol induced hangover complete with throbbing temples. Just like every other work day, I showered and dressed and drove to my office. I was on auto-pilot. I spoke to a co-worker who had become a close friend and she followed me, in her car, to the nearest hospital where I checked myself in for a psychiatric evaluation. Once I was registered and placed in an emergency triage room, where anything considered a potential threat to me was removed, she left and returned to work.
I don't remember how much time passed in the emergency room before I was moved to their psychiatric unit upstairs. Most of what happened within that locked unit over the next two weeks is a (drug-induced) smoky memory and the fallout with "M", as well as the father of Matthew was a nightmare and I only remember the most painful parts.
"M" received a promotion within the company he worked for (requiring a relocation a month before we married) and we had moved from an area we grew up in, where we had family and friends close by, to a town more than two hours away.
When I moved out, the company I worked for was just finishing a brand new R&D facility so I found an inexpensive apartment close to it. I was still more than an hour and a half from my family and although I had never counted on any of them before for emotional support, I was suddenly aching for my parents to rally around me when I started to pick up the pieces after my attempted suicide. I vaguely remember my mom making the almost two-hour drive to visit me once in the psychiatric unit. I don't remember the contents of the visit but I do remember how absolutely devastated I was that she was - and would always be - emotionally absent from my life. My dad is just as, if not more, emotionally absent from my life, too.
Over the past 12 years I have attempted to tear down the emotional bridges between my parents and myself a few times. Although I knew in my head that I would be hurt and disappointed every time, my heart still held onto hope that somehow we would find a way to close this huge gap between us. These efforts to become closer to my parents causes my husband a great deal of frustration because he knows the outcome will never change, but he still catches me when I fail and holds me as I lick the old wounds, yet again.
Henry knows vivid details of why my family is so dysfunctional. My need to have my parents close to me often overrides my memories of what a monster my 6'2" tall dad was to my three older brothers and my mom. The same need overrides my memories of my 5' tall mother sitting quietly at the dinner table while my dad unleashed his intense fury on the bodies of my brothers. What I didn't know was that during that same time period, my father was also abusing my mother -- only he did it behind closed doors.
My need for a deeper relationship with the people who brought me into this world makes me gloss over everything they did wrong or didn't do at all and that drives my husband crazy.
My most recent attempt to bring my mom and I to a common emotional ground happened the day after my oldest sons graduation party at his father's house on June 23rd. I made the same mistake again in pouring out my heart to her about how awful I felt in the way I was ignored. Instead of saying something helpful like "I know that must hurt", she does what she always does and tries to talk me out of my emotions.
The night before the party was blogging like crazy, trying to release the anxiety I was feeling about being around people who know only one side of my psychiatric hospitalizations. Who only knew I left my two boys with their respective fathers and tried to kill myself but didn't know why.
I was not successful in bringing these enormous feelings to the surface so I could let them out and regain control. Instead, it hit me full on while I was showering the next day, the day of the graduation party at Matthew's dads house. I collapsed against the wall and sobbed as quietly as I could but it still didn't take long for my husband to clue in to what was happening and climb in the shower behind me, to wrap me in his arms. When I thought I had my emotions under control, I exited the shower and started toweling myself dry. The full weight of my emotions was sitting on my chin and it started to quiver. In a heartbeat my eyes flooded with tears and I was sobbing all over again. The waterworks continued on and off for the next hour. It was finally safe to put my makeup on without fear of tears and a runny nose ruining it.
Our drive to Matthew's house was a quiet one. I was trying to use deep breathing exercises to keep my anxiety (and tears) under control. Henry and stepson were lost in their own little worlds, too.
Some of the people I saw that day I had not seen in about 15 years. Including Matthew's grandmother -- who was always so generous and good to me and him. I have never ever been in a situation where I felt so insignificant yet I was the elephant in the room. My son, although barely, was more gracious than his dad or step mom in introducing me around. One older guy, the cousin of Matthew's dad, started a conversation with my husband and me and when he asked who we were I told him I was Matthew's mother and he said Matthew? Who is that? I said the graduate, the reason why we are here for a graduation party.
The longer we stayed, and the less I was near Matthew, the more insignificant I felt. I was the elephant in the room that nobody would discuss. Oh, her? That's Matthew's egg donor. You know, the crazy one.
Matthew's stepmother spent a great deal of time putting together a really nice scrapbook for him as a graduation present. The first two pages were pictures I had sent to Dad's parents and Dad before the paternity test was completed and proved what we already knew that D was Matthew's father. Pictures from birth to sixth months of age when D held Matthew for the first time.
Every turn of a scrapbook page made my heart ache by bringing all the guilty feelings I've wrested with for years to the surface. At one point I thought I was suffocating because I couldn't breathe. Here were pieces of my first-born sons life that I had no part in.
All the time I missed by being in psychiatric units, every opportunity I had for visitation was done under close supervision. Although I had never hurt or attempted to hurt or even thought about hurting my kids, Matthew's dad had gone to court to strip away my physical custody of Matthew. I showed up at our regular meeting point and time to pick him up for a weekend visit and instead of seeing D and Matthew, I was met by a process server telling me D now had sole physical and legal custody and all visitations here on out would be supervised.
My husband, stepson and I stayed at the party for a more than reasonable amount of time. Finally I hit the wall where I would collapse in sobs if I didn't leave immediately.
My sister, although we have never been close, lived along the path of our way home and not far from my son's house. I called her and asked her if I could stop by. I told Henry I needed to make this stop NOW and that he and Jake should run up the store to return a few items we bought earlier that day but didn't use.
I walked through her door and collapsed on the couch in sobs. I doubt I made much sense at first but I had to vent some of these painful emotions before they consumed me. I couldn't believe that only one person at the party approached me to ask if I was Matthew's mother. She had always wanted to meet me and had felt guilty about not inviting me to her wedding where Matthew was the ring-bearer. She was very sweet and I could tell that she didn't get any support on inviting me to the wedding and that if she had there probably would have been a few unhappy people.
The word "insignificant" keeps stomping across my brain because that is exactly how I felt. Insignificant in a group of people where the son I gave birth to was the guest of honor. It didn't matter that for the five years of Matthew's life, I raised him by myself. Nobody from D's side of the family bothered to include me in family photographs assembled around Matthew. I had to actually reach out to Matthew's dad to ask if he would mind being photographed with Matthew and me. He didn't and it is now only the second picture in existence of the three of us together. The first picture is locked away in medical records of the hospital where we had the paternity test done.
"We are Family"
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