Shoulda, woulda, coulda…

I miss passion.

Right before my husband and I got back together (before we were married…we had a pretty bad split), there was this man that walked into the gym I worked at.


Only one other time had I felt that so instantly. Like the electricity in the air was moving between us. My entire body wanted to walk to him lick his neck, nibble over his chin, and bite his bottom lip. Climb on top of him.

I felt like he could have been a god. The god that was meant for me. We would have looked beautiful standing next to eachother. I think our sex would have been spiritual. Tantric.

For weeks he would come in, once a week. Same day. Same time. I almost couldn’t bare it. I couldn’t look away from him, but I couldn’t not look at him either. It tortured me. It obsessed my body.

We only made eye contact once. He smiled at me in a moment where he caught me smiling at something else.

Other than that, I have no idea if he even knew I was alive. How could he not feel what I was feeling, though? We were meant to know eachother. It felt to me like our souls must already know eachother.

Then one day, after about 4-5 months, he was gone.

Just gone.

During this time, my now husband and I had begun talking again… Possibly to work things out. Who really knows.

It all started when my cat, who lived at his house for the time, caught fleas from the squirrels under the deck. She infested the basement (thank God, only the basement). I had to go help rid the house and my cat of fleas.

During the time he and I were split, I was having a lot of fun. Even met a couple guys. Flirted. Partied. Enjoyed having my own time to myself so much. I always hated that “answering to someone” feeling. I just wanted to live and do what I wanted. I loved just being free. Relaxing. Hanging out.

After the flea incident, we had started chit chatting on the phone here n there.

In my heart though, that little voice which is me, told me, “it’s over.” “This is not the right path for your life. This is not the right man. He’s sweet. But this isn’t right.”

I knew she was there talking to me, but I spent so long learning to shut her up, it became automatic.

I couldn’t really just do what was right for me. What I wanted. I had to consider everyone. How they would feel. How my decisions would affect their lives.

Even if no one really seemed to return this favor.

Looking back now, I know it was guilt and feeling bad for him which pulled us together, not my desire to be with him.

One day, in a grand gesture, my now husband showed up at my house. It was a stressful morning, rushing around for a meeting an hour from my home.

In his usual fashion, he completly failed to notice what I was doing or going through in this moment. He insisted on proclaiming his undying love for me. It was all so clear to him now. He had to rush over to tell me.

I was taken back. That little voice was saying, ” NO…. Run, don’t get pulled back in, you’re almost free.”

I told him I was in a rush. I’d call him on my drive to the meeting.

We were on the phone nearly an hour. By the time I got close to the meeting, I had this fear start gripping me. This, what I know know as, “impending doom,” feeling.

I pulled over on the side of the road, he tried to calm me down. Walk me through it. I had NO idea what was happening or why or what caused it. In my mind, it was in no way related to what was happening with him and my inner voice.

I thought I was dying. I felt I was going to die. Something was going to kill me.

I pulled ot together enough to make it to my meeting. Sitting there, I started having chest pains and this weird feeling in my brain, almost like cockroaches were crawling around in there.

Of course this all freaked me out. I though, maybe I’m having a stroke.

My work partner noticed, asked if he should call an ambulance. To my surprise, I answered, “yes.”

I never go to the doctor, let alone a hospital! Of course it was this big scene. And this really hot guy, who had been flirting with me on occasion for the past couple months heard the EMT ask about my poop that day and if there was anything strange about it! OMG.

I ended up at the hospital, where I was told I was having a panic attack. Of course, my now husband showed up there too. The doctor told me to breathe into a bag if that ever happened again, and then sent me a $3000 bill. OMG seriously?

I went home, and my then ex, now husband never really went away. Never gave me space or room or time to think through anything. Never asked me if we wanted to get back together. Just kind of assumed we were. I never said different.

The anxiety didn’t stop. It got to the point I couldn’t drive. Couldn’t work. Couldn’t focus.

I finally went to a psychiatrist, he prescribed xanax. .25 mg in the am and pm.

I took it. It helped. It numbed the feeling of panic.

Then, I kept drinking. That numbed me more.

I had a lot of anger and hate inside. I never got addicted to the xanax, but couldn’t stop the drinking.

I realized I was an alcoholic, but didn’t want to admit it. It was pretty bad.

I was functional though, till, I wasn’t.

Anyway, at some point in all of this, Zeus, my nick name for the guy who disappeared, showed back up at the gym, this time with a woman, I later found out was his ex. He looked like shit. He looked like I felt. His eyes were souless like mine.

This time, I knew he knew that I knew. Because, I knew that he knew me too.

It was too late. Our moment, our opportunity was gone.

We both knew it. We both regretted it.

I still think about him, 5 years later. I don’t know if he has ever thought of me again.

I emailed him once, a week before my wedding.

I did a little digging, found out he was a masseuse. I emailed asking for an appointment. Then casually dropped that I recognized him from the gym.

We emailed back and forth a bit, and in all honesty, he was almost begging me to come for a massage. He knew who I was. I am pretty sure he wanted the same thing I did.

I was the thinnest and most beautiful I had ever been in my life. I wanted to know what his hands felt like on my body.

In the end, I stated that I was attracted to him, and it would make me uncomfortable. At that point, he stopped emailing.

In reality, I was afraid. I was afraid I would go for this massage and end up making love on the table with a strange man days before my wedding.

I wish I had gone.

I miss the feeling of my skin burning for someone. Craving them. Being frantic. Ready to orgasm before he’s even inside.

Maybe, all of this was in my head. Maybe, he just wanted a new client.         Maybe, maybe, maybe….not.


I Looked at My Reflection, in a window walking by…..

And I saw a stranger….

I don’t look at myself in the mirror any longer. I can’t. I don’t recognise the person staring back at me. No eye contact.

Who is she? What happened to the woman who used to stand there? The strong woman? The woman who set out to conquer the world? The woman who could have?

In just 4 years….4 years, I went from a beautiful young woman who looked at least five years younger than my age, to a woman so worn out, so tired, and wrinkled and old…. I’d currently place myself as five years older than I actually am.

Ive only been married and then pregnant a total of 4 years. That’s when the aging started. But, this ride, this hard life, has been 20 years in the making.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s not hormones and brain chemicals. What if depression, anxiety, OCD are direct results of not listening to your inner guide for so many years. Do you know what I mean?

When your gut tells you to quit your job, or don’t marry him, or you should move, or jump ship now…..and you don’t listen. It’s like, by not following the inner compass which would have led you to the life you were supposed to have, you smashed that compass and are now dealing with the life you created.

I love my children, and would live this hopelessness for a thousand years for them. Inside though, it’s a struggle to wade in the waters of everything else.

I don’t care about my marriage. I don’t care about my husband. I feel he has had ZERO sense of responsibility in our lives. I feel he is selfish. I feel he just wants me to care about him and his needs. Take take take. He doesn’t even see me.

My family has been the same way. I’m the daughter of two narcissists. I’m not saying this in a funny “haha” kind of way. It’s real. And they have made me the “scapegoat child.” The one who is expected to carry the responsibility of them and their lives forever.

I have had countless relationships where I was used and abused.

I am simply left with this emptiness. This feeling that I want everyone who has hurt me or taken from me to feel like shit. I want them to know what they have done and see and feel my hate and anger.

But really….. I was a willing participate. I allowed every single moment of this life to happen. Granted, I was programmed this way. It’s only really this last year I can even see the surface of what’s happened.

I don’t want this life any longer. I find myself wanting to put my children in the car and leave with them. I want to spend my years….MY YEARS…. The way I want to spend them.

I’m in pretty deep though. I’ve taken on an abundance of responsibility that doesn’t belong to me. How do I “untake it?”

I dont know.

But, I’m going to. I have shut up my inner “gut feeling” for so long I don’t even trust myself to hear her clearly. I believe that’s where I will have to start. I have to focus on hearing her again.

Then I have to listen to what she says to me.

Finally, I must put into action, and take back my life.

I will stop being angry over those who I have allowed to steal from me. I will stop trying to punish them. I will stop feeling sorry for myself.

I will take back my life. I will walk by a window and look proudly into the woman who is staring back at me. I will know her. Love her. I will be her.

Heads Carolina Tails California

I miss the soul experience of youth.

This is the longest I’ve ever forced her into silence. The most debilitating. Crippling. Changing. The time wasted can never again be done. The pain cannot be reversed. My skin isnt returning to its glow. The years are not being erased from my hands.

No matter how hard I wish, there is only going forward. So many opportunities passed. Dreams fogotten.

I find myself jealous of the young girls and women I see. So happy. Two friends sitting at the bar laughing. A girl at the beach, the perfect tan. They are not here yet. I was them. I used to look at women like me and think, “what happened to you?” Now I know.

I find myself wanting to go back. I would love to do it all again. I miss the tickle of a first kiss. The butterflies of new love. The lust. The energy of being young.

I am wasting the youth I have left. There is barely a glimmer of her there, the down hill future is so much more prominent in my mind.

It’s over.

The best years are gone. But wait…. These are the best years, aren’t they?

I see the looks older women give me as I pass with my arms full of struggle. They miss these days. Shit, someone even wrote a song about it.

I wasted those days and miss them now. I am wasting these days and I will miss them then….

In the words of one of my favorites, “What kind of fuckery is this????”



I Hate Myself

So, my mom shows up for a visit, just in time yesterday. She lives about 12 hours away and is here for 11 days.

Last night, my daughter wakes up screaming. Now, if this were an occasional thing, I believe, I would be much more sensitive to it. However, her sleeping and fighting sleeping has been a two year exhausting battle. My husband says I have to let the past go and deal with only today, but, really….. there were nights for 6 months straight where she would be up every 45 mins all night long and then wake up at 5 am for the day. It’s worn on me over time.

Anyway, my mom gets up too. It was about 3 am. I went in changed my daughter’s diaper, tucked her back in, kissed her. Of course, she started to scream at me. I told her sternly to “go to sleep,” and I closed the door. My mom was standing in the dark hallway as I turned around, she scared the shit out of me.

She asked me what was wrong, I told her, “I don’t really give a fuck, nothing is wrong this is just what happens. My life is miserable. Kill me in my sleep PLEASE.” She starts lecturing me, “She is just a baby, this is normal, all parents go through this, you cannot HATE your child.” Wow, she acted like, I was going to hurt my kid because I am so frustrated. She always acts like that, like I am this horrible monster for the feelings I have, feelings of exhaustion, feelings of frustration, even anger.

I finally looked at her and said, “did you see what I DID? I went in, loved her, changed her tucked her in….. I didn’t scream at her or hurt her or get angry with her…. I came out HERE to bitch about it, be angry, and blow off steam! I don’t know what else to do. It’s not the behavior. If it were once in a while, it would be no big deal. It’s the NEVER STOPPING. The constant, without a break! When we were kids you would scream like a psycho, hit us, throw things at us. I don’t do that. Yes, I am over the top with my feelings at the moment….. it’s because I never get a break, and it’s HARD!!!! But, any parent would feel the same way!”

I didn’t believe myself though. I feel horrible today. “Am I a bad mom? Would I snap, and act like my mom did, if I get angry enough? Am I at a breaking point? Can I trust myself?” Then I got scared.

What if my mom is right? What am I going to do? How can I trust myself to care for my children. My thoughts of anger have gotten away with me.

I’ve read, invasive thoughts are symptoms of postpartum depression and anxiety. Scary thoughts pop into your head. And then, you obsess over them. The more you obsess and freak out, the stronger they become. I have read that invasive thoughts are not an indication of action, and do not mean the person does or will ever act on them. It doesn’t matter. I try to tell myself this over and over, but the fear takes over me.

I love my children with all of my being. I want to see them grow and prosper and become amazing. The guilt of having postpartum depression and tryin to be a good mom is overwhelming. I have an internal battle all the time.

Sometimes, I hate being a mom, but, at the same time, I love them so much. How do other women handle this so well? How come I am so weak. How can I snap out of this? I feel desperate. I want to shake myself and FIX IT. I am wasting the beautiful time I have with my babies while they are young. They are only little once, and then it’s gone. And, what have I done? I have wasted it being angry and resentful and exhausted and “surviving.”

How will they remember me? Will they feel I didn’t want them, didn’t love them? Will they think what an awful mom I was, and how they deserved better? How they deserved someone more loving, or more stable? Will they even know I ever struggled? Will they only remember my love, the time we spend doing special things and cuddling?

Does my daughter look into my eyes and see what I am feeling about dealing with her behaviors? Does she feel unloved, unwanted? I try to hide it, because I want her to feel loved, and precious, and that her mommy thinks she is the princess of this world, that she can do and be anything, and that I am her biggest fan. I feel like I fail. I let my emotions leak out too often, and it’s more and more as time goes on. The calm happy sweet mommy is less and the angry frustrated short tempered mommy is more.

Does the baby neglected? Does he get enough love and attention?

I feel like I am always trying to keep them busy. “Leave me alone for five minutes.” It’s never really successful trying to keep them busy so I can take a five min break. So, it’s like I am in this constant state of trying to get them to leave me alone, maybe?

Do they feel that? Do they feel unwanted?

I hate myself.


I think about killing myself

I would never ever actually do it. But, daily, almost, the thought pops into my head. Is this life really THAT bad?

My 2.5 year old is the strongest person I know. Since giving birth to her, I don’t even recognize the person in the mirror. I used to look much youger than my age. Today, I feel and look like shit, I have aged at least a decade. Almost, from the time her feet hit the floor till I have fought with her to go to bed (sometimes for hours)…. Life is a series of endless battles. I mean literally EVERY-FUCKING-THING is a fight.

I try so hard to be a good mom. I try to be creative, take her places, do special things, teach her, spend time playing with her. She is amazing. She is gifted. She met ALL criteria for being gifted (except reading) by 18 months. These criteria are for FOUR year olds.

I read in some of my research, the number one thing parents of gifted children say is, “They are exhausted!”

I am exhausted. Everyday. We moved into a new house five days before I went I to labor with her. Then, 3 times since. We are again in a place where I have no family, friends, OR help. I don’t get a break.”Me time” is damn near impossible.

If both kids were like my son, I would probably be just fine.

I get so frustrated with the battles. My biggest fear is she will see the way I feel and it will hurt her self image, hurt her. My other biggest fear is snapping. My mom used to scream and freak out all the time. We felt hated almost. I am sure we were exhausting and frustrating too. I don’t want to scream, and flip out, and degrade my kids, or hurt their self image. I never used to yell, now I do sometimes. I lose my temper. I get angry.

What good does it do except to make me feel worse and her listen less?

In my head I know, she is 2.5. In my head I know, she isn’t doing this on purpose. In my head I know, it isn’t personal. It is really hard to believe it sometimes, though.

I come to tears nearly every day. It is just so fucking hard. Couple that with my trying to be a good mom and feeling like a complete failure, and you have a recipe for guilt.

I am home, all day every day. How women would give anything to be able to do that? How many women would be able to keep perfect organized schedules and time allotments? Perfect dinners? Give perfect attention to everything? I feel like I just waste every day trying to survive. Trying not to snap. Trying.

My sister, or BFF, or mom, or husband call me during the day. I always sound upset, exhausted, unhappy. THAT makes me feel like more of a piece of shit. I feel judged. I feel helpless. I feel like I just want someone to hear me. TO UNDERSTAND. To help me. But, I am just embarrassed when I break down. I feel worse. I feel weak. I feel like everyone is looking at me like I am pathetic….. “You only have two kids? Is it really that hard? What’s going on?”

Is there something wrong with me? Why can’t I handle this? Why do I feel like my life has been hijacked? I open my eyes feeling miserable. Then, guilty for feeling this way, Which just leads to more self loathing.

But, here I go, onward with another day. My mind hanging on by a thread. I will just keep trying.