battling

I wonder what it’s like to take mental health for granted. I battle every day. And when I don’t fight, there are consequences. This last year or so has kicked my ass pretty good, but I took some time tonight to just think of the things that I’m thankful for. and that made a shitty couple of days better.

one of the biggest thanks was that the kids are doing well. They no longer have to suffer through life with a mind-fucked, distracted dad. I’m back. I took a break from writing for the better part of a year. It was a head-in-the-sand/don’t want to believe things are as bad as they are type decision. I chose to not live in reality and just go through the motions. And that’s just not me.  I’ve got to be real. And I’ve got to take my shit head on or it’s going to bury me.

And I’m fucking proud that I’ve dug myself out of all the holes that life has buried me in. I get left for dead. That’s just how it goes for me. And my kids depend on me to scratch and claw and write and talk to my people in order to come back to life.

it’s hard not to take the collective equation that adds the “love” I’ve been given by my dad and my exes and not conclude that my worth is negligible at best. But, it’s weird…I was giving advice to my uber driver last night and I need to take it myself. She’s been in an abusive relationship for years. has 3 kids. and just recently decided to take a stand. And I was encouraging her to make sure she kept in mind that it’s her now ex-husband’s past (and failure to battle those demons) that caused him to treat her like he did. It doesn’t speak to her worth.

It really was a crazy moment. I could tell it hit home with her. And we got to talk about our kids and how much better off they are now that we’ve turned the chaos that was our relationships into the calm that is our single lives. And I just realized that I need to take what I said to her to heart. The constant in the people who didn’t love me isn’t that I’m unlovable, it’s that they refuse to change…they refuse to battle their pasts.

And that’s another thing that makes me want to give myself a high five. I think the tendency, when you’ve been dealt a shit hand by life, is to follow the golden rule of fuck or be fucked. To hurt people before you get hurt. But, one of the things that I love about myself is that, despite getting hurt, I still have the capacity to care for other people instead of just passing on the shitty versions of love I’ve been given. I’ve taken a stand against bull shit. And I went to therapy and I write my way to healthier space. And because of that, there have been spots were I should have been an ass hole, but was kind instead.

Tonight I was thinking about how, after I broke up with my most recent ex, I paid for her trip to a music festival, because we’d already planned on going. Who the fuck does that? I think “fuck off, I’m going myself” would have been a more normal and maybe even healthier response. But, see…I get to live with myself and some days it’s hard to figure out how the hell she and my ex wife and my dad can. I’m good fucking people. And they put me in holes that it’s been fucking hard to get out of.

It seems like they just go about life like everything is fine and the hurt dished out to me just gets swept under the rug, but who the fuck knows. And ultimately, who cares? I can talk about my hurt out here and with friends when I need to. and some day it may even sink in what a fucking miracle it is that I went through what I did and survived. All the lies. And smoke and mirrors. And just utter bull shit that I’ve had to put up with.

But that’s the thing. Head in the sand is the only way they can survive. Could they actually face the truth of how much damage they did to me? Fuck no. but, I get to shine light on their fucking nonsense. And limp through life with the wounds they inflicted.

There’s an old Eminem song that I used to love. Beautiful. “they can all get fucked, just be true to you.” None of their actions gave any indication that there’s any beauty in me at all. But, I’ve fucking found their actions to be guilty, not my lack of beauty. Get. Fucked.

So I can get down on my inability to pursue dreams or amount to much in this life. Or I can say that my family has needed someone to stand up against the cycles of abuse for generations. It’s like those families where you’re the first one to go to college. And everyone is so proud. Here’s hoping that my willingness to be real and stand up to fake love is going to serve riley and blake well.

A healthy relationship? I can’t fucking imagine that, but I think the kids have a chance. And even writing that, I feel like this has been too much of a tooting my own horn blog, but then again…I’m the only one who experiences it when I have flashbacks to shit I’ve been through…when my body goes cold and my arms get tingly and I’m stuck in that past bull shit. To take the power back. It’s fucking exhausting. But, I do it. And I’m sure I would have given up by now if it weren’t for the kids.

I was writing to a buddy earlier who is a fucking saint to listen to me when I’m struggling. And he encouraged me to look back on all the positive posts I’ve been putting on facebook lately. Blake kicking ass at basketball camp. Riley youtubing her way to almost 1000 subscribers. The family is winning, in part because I took a stand. Home. Safe. Real. That’s what I have with the kids. and it’s the exact opposite of what I’ve had in my relationships. So, I took another strong stand this week. To make sure my life has no possible intersection with the life of the latest one to hurt me. No one knows what I went through. No one knows the truth of how bad it was. No one could understand what it feels like to be the one giving (see music festival) and just continually get back doored in return. That ain’t love. But, according to my sober-ish uber advice…that doesn’t mean that I’m not lovable. 

Fucked up people (people who have been fucked) do fucked up things. You can write the world off as a place where that’s just the norm. or you can fucking therapy/write/talk your way to healthier spaces. Why am I not jaded? I think largely because I was given a second chance at life after the marriage. My therapist listened. She hurt with me. And the belief she had in me led me to this path where I fight every fucking day to keep my head above water and I, like I said in the last blog, have to mute the fucking people that have tried to drown me. God damn. Another flashback. The times I’ve played second fiddle. People saying they love me and choosing time with someone else at my expense. It fucking hurts. But, all I can do is hope for better times and know that my kids won’t know that pain. I can be alone on a Saturday night and know it beats the hell out of being with someone who doesn’t give a shit about me being okay. I’m okay. Despite what I’ve been through. And I thank god for all the real people that have listened and helped along the way.

the people that hurt me had the whole thing backwards. i was called an asshole by the one treating me like a piece of shit. i was told by the crazy one that i was the one who needed to check into a mental hospital. and i was asked by the one who got the ball rolling on my lack of self-worth if i was going to spend my whole life bitter. i'm not fucking bitter. i'm not a crazy ass hole. but, i am leaving you fuckers where you belong...in my rear view. i wish i had the freedom to actually tell the whole truth about how much pain i've absorbed. instead i'll settle for moving forward with my kids riding shotgun. they never deserved to take a back seat to anybody. and that's where i'll leave it...me with a big smile, knowing my kids are going to have it better than i did. fucking hell my heart's been hurt.