I guess it’s just my stupid luck

Every time I get a text notification my broken heart still skips a beat. Both fortunately and unfortunately it’s never him. I do long for the day it is though no matter how healthy my case manager seems to think it is I get some space to mourn the loss.

Rob dominated group today with talk of his anxiety and self image. He’s a dad, hitting fifty soon and for some reason that makes it harder to hear his struggles both from his childhood and as an adult. In all honesty I feel glad we were able to dedicate some time to his issues, but I really wanted to talk today. Group psychotherapy is only an hour.

Hopefully tomorrow I’ll get a turn. I’m anticipating the insurance will only cover 2 more weeks of day hospital. I’m going to soak up as much as I can from the program and continue to do all my work to make progress. Hopefully I’ll be able to see my case manager in his private practice as well leaving the program. He’s really a stand up guy. I couldn’t ask for a better man in my life right now.

And speaking of men in my life, Brian, who I gave the AA coin to has been twirling it in his fingers all the time and keeps it on him all day. He even likes the quote on it about adjusting our sails to the wind. If I wasn’t so highly medicated I’d cry tears of joy that I could do something for someone that meant that much to them.

On my way home from babysitting I started thinking about what I’ll say in goals group tomorrow morning. They ask for a mood rating number from 1 to 100 (I was a 31 earlier today), a physical feeling, an emotional feeling, a goal for in program and a goal for the evening outside of program. You also answer if you met your goal for the previous week.

The past couple days when group is over, I’ve just wanted to curl up in a ball from depression and disappear. Sleep is my go to coping mechanism. It’s scary because if I feel that way on days I’m IN day hospital how will I function when it’s over?

Thank you all for your wonderful feedback. Tomorrow when I get a chance at the computer, as opposed to my phone, I will get back to all of you. Support from this outlet is just as valuable as support from the people in group.


Day Hospital: Part 1

I finally got into Adult Day Hospital. It’s about 20 adults in the basement of a hospital doing 4 hours of different group therapies and one hour for lunch (unless you’re on half days – which happens when you’ve been there for a while.) The program is about 4 weeks give or take a week or two depending on what your insurance will pop for but if you really need to be there the staff will try to work with the insurance companies to keep you there. It’s my one week one day anniversary today and I’m feeling really positive. All the grieving over Chris I’ve done has NOT come to a halt or been in vein, but rather now I have a place to process my feelings and to help me mourn the loss. My case worker thinks it’s a good idea if I stay away from talking to him until he comes home in which case if I want to reconcile that sounds like an alright idea, but for now, keeping ‘clean’ of a toxic relationship is important. If it’s going to hurt me to talk to him then don’t talk to him.

It hurts, it really does, but it’s good to be in a supportive environment of people who may have different issues than you (some way worse). Brian, for instance, is an older gentleman probably my dads age (late 50’s) who just joined group last week. People trickle in and others trickle out. When they leave we have rock ceremonies for them. I’ll go through one the next time we get to one. Anyway, Brian.

He’s a dad of 1, step-dad of 1 (of whom he’s been in the kids life since he was 8 and he’s 23 now) and husband of (well, 1). He’s been an alcoholic 27 years, married 16, never tried to quit until now. He got thrown into the hospital when his wife wasn’t responding to his calls at work so he texted her pictures of him slitting his wrists in a drunken stooper. He’s never tried to quit alcohol before and now that he’s two and a half weeks sober, two weeks out of the hospital and into Day Hospital for depression, he’s doing really well. Unfortunately, his 23 year old stepson gave his mother an ultimatum that it was Brian coming home or the stepson moving out. Brian is currently living at a halfway house now while he works out his treatment and goes to AA meetings after Day Hospital. He’s starting to look at some of his anger right now in small group psychotherapy (He’s in my group), and today I had a gift for him.

Two years ago when I was there one of the alcoholics was giving up coins that he was going to give in an AA meeting which had a sailboat on one side and the words “We cannot control the wind but we can adjust our sails”. Just some crappy little brass or nickel coin, but a coin that was supposed to symbolize that you’re doing well, and remind yourself of what’s in your control. I took that coin out last night from my keepsake box and brought it this morning for Brian who fiddled with it in his fingers all day, twirling it and occasionally dropping it, you could hear him go “shit!” or “goddamnit!” He called me sweetheart and gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek though so overall I think it was a good investment giving it to him. I’m really sentimental and I lost my rock from my last rock ceremony there, so that was my replacement for it. However, I have a new rock coming up in a few weeks and I’ll just have to accept and mourn the loss of my rock, which is a common theme quite obviously here in my treatment.

Fangs, I mean, Daniel, has also got it worse off than me. I’m not 100% sure why he’s there other than “I’m really fucked up.” But the 37 year old with surgically implanted fangs, hot topic pants as well as black hoodies and tattoos of his bones over his skin (so it looks like the skin is inside out) always has a lot to say. His stories are all over the place. I don’t believe half of them unfortunately but even if they aren’t true, he’s got to have gone through some heavy shit to make him the way he is today even if it really was an abundance of alcohol or drugs. He’s claimed to have had three heart attacks, died twice on the operating table, had a girl die of heroin in his arms, been in jail 15 times, been shot, shot a gun, been in a gang, and move a guy who was dead of an OD out onto the patio from inside the kitchen because he thought he was just “really fucked up”.

Not everyone there was a user. There are NA and AA meetings for that. This is a swimming pool for the emotionally unfit. The people who tried committing suicide from clinical depression or had manic episodes for the first time in their lives at age 61, or whose anxiety is so bad they can’t work anymore and need help learning how to function again.

There’s plenty of stories left to tell, but for now you can chew on Brian and Daniel. I’m just happy that I was able to bring myself to blog again. It felt uncomfortable not having the concentration to be able to string words together for a week, but to be kind to myself, it was a really heavy week.


I’m not the killing type

But I would kill to make him feel. I’d kill to move his face an inch.

I sprinted into the bathroom after I was dressed to make sure my phone didn’t fall into the tub I was just soaking in. I almost made it through the bath in peace but then started thinking about how I’m going to phrase myself in day hospital tomorrow when I have to introduce myself and why I’m there with the rest of the messed up people. People are always supportive of divorce but I’m not divorced. I’m just in mourning that the love of my life just wants to be friends and even said to me “you don’t think there will be other women after kara?”

Just one month ago everything was just fine and now about 3 weeks later I’m destroying my last semester and desperately clinging on to sanity. It really dosent get better the first month at least. We’re supposed to have a goal for getting through the program and mine is to be able to function again.

They’re going to ask me if I WANT to be friends with him and the answer is yes…but with or without him I feel destroyed so how can I legitimately be friends with him when he’s with other women? He might settle for the next one for all I know and how can I be friends with the love of my life when he’s married? Never meet his wife? Ask him never to talk about her? Unrealistic. She’ll tell him to drop me and he will and I’ll be defeated for the last time. That’s how I see our pathetic future panning out.

I’m not even myself with him right now. And now I’m committed to this program I won’t have the chance to sleep all day but I do need to figure out how to face life again and that’s why I’m doing this. I just can’t stop crying. I feel ugly and not good enough. I feel desperate and pathetic. I feel broken. Still. I’m sure you’re all sick of reading about it by now.

Fake it till you make it

I couldn’t sleep last night
Nor the night before that
I can’t sleep tonight
This is standard format

Fake it till you make it
Walk right out the door
Go through all the motions
Find yourself on the floor

A breakthrough for a moment
While at the laundromat
Everything that’s clear now
Fogs up on the way back

Fake it till you make it
Forget all that he’s done
Your hearts the size of Texas
But he’s your only one

Standing in the shower
Breathing in hot air
You’ve been in there for an hour
But there’s still time to spare

Fake it till you make it
And take care of yourself
The pain won’t always be there
You won’t always feel like someone else

Take my hand and guide me
Bring me back to life
I thought love was the answer
Not an ingredient of strife

Fake it till you make it
In the end it’s only you
There are no clear answers
In my point of view

The politics of blogging

On day 7 I learned that their fling was not over. So on that grievous day I cursed and hit him below the belt from 2,000 miles away and am not sorry for it. Instead of doing something venomously self destructive thereafter, I went to my friend Lisa`s house and cried in the kitchen while her and her husband pep talked me and the kids were in the other room playing Temple Run on my phone. She offered me beer which I eventually just got full off of rather than drunk and accepted the invitation to sleep over. I regardless needed to be there to babysit today, which happens to be day 8.

It’s still up in the air as to if letting him read my blog is a good idea (which I post from wordpress to my tumblr for him). I’d like him to come to me rather than it always being the other way around and part of me wants him to think I completely self destructed though there’s not much damage left to do at this point. He can rest the axe from his hands.

Lisa has been the most supportive friend with an open home and experience in where I am now. Her run in with the apocalypse was 7 years ago and she’s still got the scars from punching a concrete bathroom wall until her hand was the size of a baseball mitt. It didn’t get better for her for about a year and a half and I can see that being my story too but the bottom line is it did get better which I obviously know it will but feel like a year and a half would be getting out of this jail sentence early.

When I’m not sleeping I’m crying and when I am sleeping I’m in heaven. For the kids sake I tried to stay distracted by them which isn’t hard with a 5,3 and 1 year old calling my name and begging me to play with them, nap with them and feed them. It was during the quiet moments inbetween that thoughts started to creep in on me.

Regardless of what happens to Chris and I, the most important thing that Lisa and I agree on is eliminating the toxicity from our relationship. I don’t know how considering he’s literally poisoned me within an inch of my life with his friends with feelings and benefits stuff…but something has to change and I’d prefer it be him coming to me for starters.

I was telling Lisa after she took her oldest to kindergarten that all I want to do is talk to the man but have nothing pressing to say. I just want conversation to go about as normal, but I know things are far as can be from the kind of normal we shared, so there’s nothing conversationaly that could be shared that would satisfy my empty chest.

I take that back, my heart has been expelled from my body but the placenta it left behind is still attached to my ventricles. I wish I had it in me the way I did when I was younger to write songs. I’d be one hell of a folk punk artist especially considering it wouldn’t be hard to find a punk folk to play guitar for me.

At least after last night I was reminded the kids would be devastated if I died and it made me sad to think about them crying at my casket and helped ease myself out of the “I want to die” thing, though I really do.


Your Prescription is Ready

I’d like to say I’m not deteriorating or I’m slowly deteriorating, but like a fast acting drug it’s a rapid deterioration.

I feel like there’s something dead inside of me, like my heart is a carcass of some spirit animal that couldn’t take it anymore.

I’m lost. I can’t focus enough to do my first homework assignment. I wish I could just sleep all day every day for the rest of my life to be quite honest. I used to be able to persevere, but I feel like this cats 9th life has just been used up. Now I’m just a bitter old woman no one will want to be around.

On the bright side my doctor is calling me in a perception for xanax. Only 10 pills but maybe they’ll help keep me from spazzing which I’ve been doing on a nightly basis since the apocalypse.