I am getting to the point of no return.
WB popped back in, just briefly enough to give me hope. Then vanished equally as quickly.
Then to make matters worse, SF lied to me and it was simply the final straw. I don’t think I should be put on the back burner for anyone, when a promise has been made to me.
I am standing up for myself, and that’s all I can do. If I don’t value my time no one else will either.
I am only seeing CW now, and though I wish it were longer and more frequent, I understand he must make a living, and support his habits. Mainly, as those habits work in my favor.
It is getting through all the ins and outs of everything I’m trying . Depression, GAD, men, autoimmune disorder, and just simply being a mother, and wife. It may not seem like much to the outside world, but all of it crammed in my head, makes me a very confused, and helpless woman. This is the 21st century, and the best the doctors can come up with to help a depressed wife, is feed her pills and “see what happens”!
At any rate, I tried playing the good wife, and had some racy photos made for my h on his 40th. His comment at receiving his gift was, “can I buy myself a gift?” Obviously, not the reaction I’d hoped for.
I can’t help it…I cut. There is only so much emotion I can hold in before it rushes to the surface. I can’t cry, and the emotions stay very firmly packed inside. I can’t just cry like other women. My resolve, or pride, or damned ego won’t let me. Weak, desperate, disgraceful! So, I take a razor, and bleed out the pain, in a way that makes sense to my brain. Most people would call me weak, or tell me I am seeking attention.
I am 38 fucking years old, I don’t need pity or attention! I need solutions! I dare women not to cry for two months. Not cry alone, or in a shower, or the car, or after some sappy ass movie! Then keep track of what you actually do feel. At the end of two months, if you don’t need a xanax, or a good cry, you and I could never be friends!
Now, I have to be strong…
This is me…but I’m somehow not good enough…