The more you know the less it’s worth it.
This isn’t because I want to talk. To discuss. I just need someplace to say it. Someplace without my children, or hell let’s be honest, without anyone I know.
I could always pretend I wasn’t alone. I always knew that at least my clueless mother was there to talk to. Her bad, shallow simple advice that was never advice. But I can’t pretend to find comfort in that she getting things off my chest.
I’m alone
No one can do anything for me. People around me are in constant need that I’m the only help. But I need to be done. I can’t even fix anything for myself. I want to be done.
I’m sick of being lied to, manipulated and cheated on by someone I can’t trust with my feeling or ideas. I’m an idiot for sticking around. I was always told how lucky I was he stayed with me, but I knew. I still know and now that we are old he still can’t help himself. He doesn’t give one damn. He only cares about how he is seen.
He likes to leave clues when he’s fucking around. Clothing, not mine in our laundry. I’ll find panties that done belong, men’s underwater that do t belong, shirt. And the less obvious. The cups from their meetings, you know, the garbage left behind for me to clean up. The stack of napkins from the bar for him to clean up with. The smell of an obviously freshly showered man at the end of a long day going around town interviewing potential team members.
I’ve got nothing left. My body has failed me. I’ve sunk everything I can into my son’s business. I can barely clean the kitchen without needing a good long break and pain that lasts until the next morning. I don’t know how I can leave.
And now it’s the holidays again.
I just can’t face them.
The work is a mountain to me and the current state of that mountain is growing rapidly. I have no help.
I have no one and nothing.
I’ve never been allowed friends so you total strangers are all I had. I don’t know you. I thought online people were a clever trick to get around his rules. It’s not.
My kids did not need this and quite frankly, are of absolutely no help regardless.
I wish I’d just die already.
I’m sitting in a parking lot for an hour now and I can’t get out of the car and I’m shaking too much to drive myself home. I’m too angry at new revelations. I’m too heartbroken with life.
I don’t know what to do or how to get my emotions under control enough to hide them and get on with my day.
I thought I was stronger than this.
I thought he was trying to be a better man, but what do I know. He was just trying to get away with more.
I’ve seen what suicide does to a family. I know better. But I don’t know what to do anymore. there are no more doors. No kind words. No comfort. Not even my mom’s promises of doing anything for me… unless it’s hard then you’re on your own, platitudes.
And now, NOW, I find out I have to get my home in order to play host, plan and cook a holiday dinner and be fine. For a bunch of enablers, liars, and soul suckers. For all that I’ve been told I’m lucky to have. What’s the old joke, I don’t need enemies because I’ve got family? Something like that. The last time I tried, before diagnosis ( you know, to prove I wasn’t faking which only sort of helped). The last time I spent 4 days in bed recovering before my body would allow me to walk and spend any time on my feet. So I have to put my health at risk and pretend happy for a bunch of people I don’t want to be around and could care less about being around me. A husband that feels his dick is the most important person on the room. Kids and in-laws who only need and never give.
I hate my life and I need to be done
And now I’m being told he’s got to go meet with a candidate. I wonder if I’ll find his garbage in the car after this one,
I could always pretend I wasn’t alone. I always knew that at least my clueless mother was there to talk to. Her bad, shallow simple advice that was never advice. But I can’t pretend to find comfort in that she getting things off my chest.
I’m alone
No one can do anything for me. People around me are in constant need that I’m the only help. But I need to be done. I can’t even fix anything for myself. I want to be done.
I’m sick of being lied to, manipulated and cheated on by someone I can’t trust with my feeling or ideas. I’m an idiot for sticking around. I was always told how lucky I was he stayed with me, but I knew. I still know and now that we are old he still can’t help himself. He doesn’t give one damn. He only cares about how he is seen.
He likes to leave clues when he’s fucking around. Clothing, not mine in our laundry. I’ll find panties that done belong, men’s underwater that do t belong, shirt. And the less obvious. The cups from their meetings, you know, the garbage left behind for me to clean up. The stack of napkins from the bar for him to clean up with. The smell of an obviously freshly showered man at the end of a long day going around town interviewing potential team members.
I’ve got nothing left. My body has failed me. I’ve sunk everything I can into my son’s business. I can barely clean the kitchen without needing a good long break and pain that lasts until the next morning. I don’t know how I can leave.
And now it’s the holidays again.
I just can’t face them.
The work is a mountain to me and the current state of that mountain is growing rapidly. I have no help.
I have no one and nothing.
I’ve never been allowed friends so you total strangers are all I had. I don’t know you. I thought online people were a clever trick to get around his rules. It’s not.
My kids did not need this and quite frankly, are of absolutely no help regardless.
I wish I’d just die already.
I’m sitting in a parking lot for an hour now and I can’t get out of the car and I’m shaking too much to drive myself home. I’m too angry at new revelations. I’m too heartbroken with life.
I don’t know what to do or how to get my emotions under control enough to hide them and get on with my day.
I thought I was stronger than this.
I thought he was trying to be a better man, but what do I know. He was just trying to get away with more.
I’ve seen what suicide does to a family. I know better. But I don’t know what to do anymore. there are no more doors. No kind words. No comfort. Not even my mom’s promises of doing anything for me… unless it’s hard then you’re on your own, platitudes.
And now, NOW, I find out I have to get my home in order to play host, plan and cook a holiday dinner and be fine. For a bunch of enablers, liars, and soul suckers. For all that I’ve been told I’m lucky to have. What’s the old joke, I don’t need enemies because I’ve got family? Something like that. The last time I tried, before diagnosis ( you know, to prove I wasn’t faking which only sort of helped). The last time I spent 4 days in bed recovering before my body would allow me to walk and spend any time on my feet. So I have to put my health at risk and pretend happy for a bunch of people I don’t want to be around and could care less about being around me. A husband that feels his dick is the most important person on the room. Kids and in-laws who only need and never give.
I hate my life and I need to be done
And now I’m being told he’s got to go meet with a candidate. I wonder if I’ll find his garbage in the car after this one,
