Claustrophobia

I know it's been a while since I last posted. Sometimes I do that. Between just not feeling like writing or really thinking deeply, to just being busy and tired. This whole blog has really become more of a journal than anything else. But I'm just rolling with the thoughts, so that's okay. Maybe one day I'll start posting something more useful to other people.

My husband and I started seeing a new therapist this week, yesterday actually. Our previous one was super expensive, quite the drive, and didn't really sit well with us. Neither one of us felt like he was actually offering any sort of guidance, and he'd often take too much time to give analogies, and though we were seeing him separately, we discovered he was saying many of the same things to us about things he'd done that day which didn't add up. It was just strange. Plus, I made him cry, and for some reason I just feel uncomfortable now. To be clear, I wasn't mean, he just cried hearing my story.

Our new guy is much closer to us, and works for our church. In one single sitting, we learned more than in the whole month+ of seeing the other guy. He basically said the same things I've been saying. That my husband is the one who really needs therapy to figure out why he continuously hurts the people he claims to love. He said we can come in together every three or four sessions to sort of touch base and talk about the marriage and how things are going. He's a very smart and lovely man. We could both tell that he genuinely cared about us and wanted to help. Not that he was looking for a paycheck.

Multiple different times, he seemed happily surprised that I was still here and trying to make things work. Even though I'd wanted to divorce, that I was trying for the kids, and because I felt like I'd been given 'signs' to forgive and heal this marriage, that it was amazing and not something he often saw. He said that I lacked the nasty bitterness that spouses usually had, especially after ten years of living this way. I said the bitterness was definitely there, but he said that it was normal, but the way I talked to, about and understood my husband, was amazing, and purely by grace of God.

Recently, after what my husband has done, I've asked him how he would feel if I'd been the one to do what he did. Would he still be here? Would he have forgiven me so quickly? He's tried to put himself in my shoes, and has answered that he honestly doesn't know. It's a tough and shitty situation, and he understands that. But, the therapist proposed that he "flip the script" entirely. That he put himself in my shoes for our entire relationship. My husband's attitude and demeanor changed almost instantly, and he couldn't even look at me. The entire car ride home, he didn't say a word.

I was scared, thinking that he was upset. Maybe he didn't like the new therapist. Maybe he realized that this wasn't something he was willing to fight so hard for. Later when he got home after work, he admitted it was because he felt like such an asshole. He was so ashamed at all he'd done and taken for granted. He said he'd never once in the ten years we've been together, put himself in my shoes. Never wondered how he'd have felt if I brought my ex to his home while he was at work and lied. Never wondered how he'd have felt if I constantly turned my phone off and disappeared, showing up at three in the morning gouging holes in the door with my key because I was so belligerently drunk I couldn't get in the house. Never wondered how he'd have felt having to clean my vomit off the couch or floor while our daughter slept because I got drunk with the girl who worked next to my work, again.

And the list goes on. He'd never once considered those things. What it might feel like to be home with children and doing his best to please and take care of his family day in and day out without my appreciating it in the least, and always needing and searching for 'more' for 'better'. The therapist said the things he's always looking for to make himself happy are like vapor. The moment he gets his hands on them, they're gone, and he's already searching for the next thing. Because things don't make you happy. My husband measures success and happiness by what he's accomplished and has. But the therapist, like myself, believes that's wrong. Success is measured by a happy family, home and where you stand with God. 100 years from now, nothing will matter but where you stand with the Lord. You can not take worldly things with you when you die. And I think my husband finally realized that the things he's always striving for to make him happy, never have, and how true it was that they were so like vapor.

For the first time in ten years, I really feel like I have hope, that things are going to change for us for the better. Not that they'll be 'good' for a while, while I'm sitting around waiting for the next time he hurts me. But that his heart is actually going to change. I don't want him to change the things he loves. His hunting, fishing and car hobbies, his love for the outdoors and Jeeps and travel. His favorite foods and clothes. I don't want any of that to change. What I want to change is his priorities of those things, and God and his family. He admitted last night that his job was the top priority. Then side work, then his hobbies, then somewhere down the line was his family, and God was off to the side there somewhere.

He's finally recognized that he really needs to reevaluate what's most important and why. Thank God.

Me on the other hand. I'm doing better with my anxiety, thanks to the Prozac. I've only had two or three attacks in the last couple of weeks, as opposed to the multiple daily. Last night I had a weird feeling, but I couldn't relate it to anxiety as much. It felt very, claustrophobic. I felt claustrophobic inside my own body. It was strange. But I think it was because my mom's husband stopped by while he was out riding his bike, and we talked for a while.

He and my mom aren't doing well in their marriage either. They have far less problems than we have, and nothing so serious as adultery, but they're both so very unhappy. They have both quit their jobs to pursue self employment; they've both started their own businesses. It wasn't a leap for them, because their house and cars are paid off and they had plenty of savings (on top of us paying them $20k+ that we owed them for our home in a lump sum). But even being in their positions, they're just so miserable. It kills me. I want to see them happy.

But he was venting a little bit and we got on the subject of how my mom seems to think I had a childhood safe from seeing the fighting and problems my parents had. He said that she's actually said that they made sure I didn't hear and know of the problems. But, it isn't true. Not only could I feel it, I heard them shouting at each other plenty. Did she think I went deaf in those times? It makes no sense. Has her mind blocked them out? There were times I sat in my room alone crying, and scared, because my dad would put hands on my mom.

I had said something about moving in with my mom and her husband had me clarify. In the eight years they've been together, he never knew that I didn't live with my mom until I was eight. He said she made it seem like I'd always lived with her. When I opened up to him about it, and about my great grandmother who was very much more of a mother to me, and he passing and how she passed in the end, he was mind blown. And angry.

In merely a month, a handful of people who have heard my story, have cried, been shocked, and not known how to respond to me. The realization for me, that while I'm a 'normal' person who has taken bad situations and become a good person because of it, but that I really and truly do have a rough and painful story, made me feel claustrophobic in my own head. It was like, for the first time I didn't say, 'Oh yeah, well such is life - what doesn't kill you...', and really recognized that I have some demons in the closet, was very overwhelming for me.

My stepdad says these are things I need to address with my mother some day. Obviously I plan to, someday. I just don't know when, or how to start. I also don't want to hurt her. She's been through enough, too. But I also know she needs help, and healing, and I want to be there to help her in those things. I want to have a real relationship with my mother before it's too late and I'm just someone regretting that I never got to have that with a parent.

Prozac

I know I posted that I started taking Prozac on Monday. Today is day five. It's hard to explain how I feel. I feel like it's obvious that change is happening in my head. But it's also made me really, really tired. I can still be pretty irritable, but I've also been laughing a whole lot more. I feel a little moody, which is weird, because I wasn't moody before Prozac, I was just filled with constant anxiety.

Every now and then, I can feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack, but then I just feel a little bit dizzy instead of like I'm having a full blown attack. Then I'm back to "normal" in a few moments. It's just that, I feel different. And weird. I can't explain it. It's totally possible that it's just because I'm so dang tired. I get weird when I'm really tired. Hopefully this passes.

Today I helped my grandma get her church website up and running and looking nice. The baby slept for four hours this morning, which was awesome. I binge watched The Vampire Diaries. I should have been doing other things (though I did set up a website) but I feel like I give no fucks today. None. I read The Vampire Diaries series a while back, and thought it was pretty awesome. It wasn't a thing like the show. Names are the same, but that's almost the only thing. The show has definitely sucked me in, but it isn't all that fantastic. Not like a book anyway.

I have, well had, a friend named Mark. We were pretty close back in high school. He used to tell me my stories were "so pointless". I know he was giving me a hard time and we generally laughed about it. But just now after I read my Vampire Diaries ramble, I thought of how pointless my stories can be. He wasn't lyin'!

It doesn't help that I feel like such a scatterbrain today. I can't tell if it's just that I'm tired, or if it's the Prozac messing with my head. I keep doing things that are weird even for me, and then can't really recall the through process that lead me there. For instance, earlier I got up and closed the blinds. Almost instantly I was frowning at myself and opening them back up. I couldn't figure out why I'd chosen to do that. I hate having the blinds closed in the day unless the baby's sleeping.

My doctor said this phase would pass, that it's common in the first couple of weeks. If it doesn't, I'm going to quit taking it for sure. I'm in such a funk, and thought it was supposed to take people out of funks, so..... Not to mention, when I drive, I have to continuously check my mirror to make sure the baby is in the car. I'm so out of it that I'm afraid I'm going to end up leaving one of the kids somewhere! I haven't done that before, and really don't think I could manage it now, but these last couple of days have just been strange. I'm definitely in a fog.

Anxiety

Can you believe I'm actually having anxiety just at the thought of writing about my anxiety? Turns out, anxiety is a mental disorder. And it's pretty intense. Growing up, my mom had anxiety. I never really knew what the word meant, and she never talked about it. All I really knew was that she was a rigid, emotional mess, most of the time. I remember being on the highway once, and my mom pulled off into the shoulder lane to throw up because she was having such a severe panic attack.

Now, in my adult years, married with two kids under my belt, I'm plagued with the same demon. My own mind. I understand her better now. Before I had children, the world was my plaything. I'd do just about anything once, more if I loved it. I even earned my advanced scuba diving license and jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. I wanted to travel the world, ride in a hot air balloon, explore mysterious jungle caves, dive at the Great Barrier Reef, and about 300 other things. When I became pregnant with my first child, I still thought I'd do all of those things. But the world became a terrifying place when the realization that I was in charge of a completely dependant life, that it turned out I loved more than life itself.

I still believe that one day, I'll do all those things I'd once dreamed of doing. They're just on hold for a little while. And while I'm okay with that, I understand that the anxiety I feel over those things, isn't really okay at all. It's very irrational. But I can't turn it off. My daughter started school this year, and the anxiety that filled me with, was overwhelming. I lost weight over it, that I didn't need to be losing. Sometimes, during a perfectly normal errand or routine activity, horribly disturbing things will pop into my head. Things that could be possible, happening right now at my daughter's school. Where is she at this moment? Is she being bullied? Can the teachers see her on the playground? Is there some mentally unstable person shooting up the playground?

And it's all downhill from there. The anxiety becomes crippling. My breath becomes short and shallow, I get dizzy, my heart races, the ground moves and I can't form full or rational thoughts to save my life. On the outside, you'd never be able to tell. That's the tricky thing about most mental disorders. And no matter how many times I tell myself that it's fine, that those things aren't happening, there's that demon whispering, but what it they are?

I think contributors to my anxiety have been horror movies, that I used to like before I had kids, and the news. The movies planted the seeds and the news watered them. I know the world is a horrible place, with evil lurking at every turn. I also know that there's good in the world. It can't be helped, that a parent would want to try and ensure that their children never meet with this evil. I don't mean that I want to protect them from everything. They're going to have troubles and trials, I know. And I know that's a good thing. I mean the pure evil. The kidnappings, the twisted bullying, terrorists, etc. Even comparing the odds of something like that happening, isn't good enough for my anxiety. If it's possible for someone else who never thought it would happen, it's possible for us. And nothing in the world is worth me chancing something like that.

I thank God everyday for blessing me with such a happy and outgoing little girl. It reassures me that even through my own issues, because no one is perfect, she's still thriving. I haven't screwed her up. Victory! For now. The other things that have contributed to my immense anxiety, are the judgemental Judy's out there. People get behind their little keyboards and are just awful to each other. Perfect strangers acting like no one else out there has a soul. They're so judgemental and nasty. With my horrible self esteem issues, it's hard to take attacks like that. Especially when there really is no reason for them. Another reason I turned off the comments to my blog, which is sad. What if there was someone out there, that maybe God sent my way, that could help me? But I'll never know, because in my mind, all I'll hear are negative things and get judged as f*ck. I'm already vulnerable enough as it is.

Recently, my husband cheated on me. I'm sure with the pouring out of my heart, it will seem obvious as to why. I'm all sorts of damaged, and I guess just too hard to love. I get it. But after that, my anxiety started getting out of control. The night he cheated on me he was supposed to be home before midnight, around ten. I woke up at almost two, and felt awful. Something was wrong, and my intuition was telling me so, before I ever even knew what time it was. When I realized it was morning, I was sure that something was wrong. My heart was racing and my stomach was sick. I called him, but he didn't answer. I called the shop where he said he'd be, and no one answered. The feeling I got then, is the feeling I live with constantly now. At every little thing, even when it's just my mind thinking of scenarios that will never happen. My heart starts to race and I feel sick.

I went to the doctor three days ago, and asked him to prescribe me something to help me to not have to feel like this anymore. I'm officially on Prozac. I'm hoping it will help, but am afraid if it doesn't. I'm also afraid that it might change the parts of me that sort of make me, me. I don't want it to change who I am, I just want it to help me not think that the world is about to implode at any second. Today is my third day taking the Prozac. He said it will take a couple of weeks to start working for my anxiety. For now all it's done is make me tired, and feel, weird. Just sort of, unexplainable. I feel different, but I'm still having anxiety, so I know it's doing something. Everything in my life just feels so uncertain right now.

I'll try to focus on the things I'm certain of. I love my children, and they're depending on me to get better, and be the best person I can be. I'm trying to take life one day at a time right now. It's so hard with so much going on in my mind so constantly! Also, fun fact; Blogging about my feelings and life makes me hate myself for some reason. I can't figure out why. Do I feel like I'm being whiny? Maybe I'm feeling towards myself the way I think other people will for knowing who I am and how I think. Maybe I just hate this anxiety ridden, no self confidence version of myself. I can't wait to see her go. Bye Felicia!

This is a great article, called How Girls With Anxiety Love Differently. The beginning describes what anxiety feels like, perfectly. It also describes how my dreams typically are, and strangely enough, almost describes one I had in high school, to a T. I hope that I won't always be this way though. I don't want to learn to live with it at all. I want it to go away foreevverrrr.

"You’re swimming in an ocean, and without notice or warning you begin slipping under the surface. You kick and kick, slowly losing your breath. You can’t breathe, but you keep kicking. No matter how hard you kick, how hard you try to scream, no one can hear you or help you. Your lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen; you can’t reach the surface. You keep reaching toward the sunlight; you see the surface, but you can’t get there. You’re stuck 10 feet under. You’re without air; you're without your breath; you black out.

That’s anxiety. Anxiety consumes you; anxiety becomes you, and for hours you’re alone. You’re drowning, and no one can save you, no matter how loudly you yell.

As a result of constantly feeling like this, girls with anxiety have their guard up. We handle almost everything with worry, and we are on edge, wondering what will set off our anxiety next, and just like that, we're back feeling like we're in that ocean."

BUT, then I read this, Thin Slices of Anxiety, and while it's spot on, it tries to make light of anxiety My husband of course, paints it in a much darker light. I wonder if I hate myself because it feels like my husband hates me. Am I taking Prozac because I need it? Or because I have someone who can't help me through the struggles and only exacerbates my anxiety, who simply wants me to change myself?

Unwillingness to trust

Recently my husband and I got into an argument. He thinks poorly of my inability to trust others. But no matter how hard I try, and try to look at it, and analyze people and situations, I still just can't trust. To be completely honest, I don't feel like anyone should be giving out trust all willy nilly. Certainly not to strangers or even acquaintances, but even to people who are family, or who you've known "forever". What makes anyone think they just have a right to your trust because so many days of knowing some things about you have passed? Trust, in my opinion, is earned. And it can absolutely be shattered, even over a long period of little damaging things.

My trust, specifically, can be given over small things quite easily. But when it comes to things like my home, finances, children... my trust must absolutely be earned first. But, my husband seems to think that I still can't trust anyone enough. We got in this argument specifically because of our children. He wants to be able to go out on the town, and leave our kids with a sitter. Our oldest is six, and I have no qualms leaving her with two or three select people. Our youngest is nine months now. He has refused to take a bottle of any kind, though we tried various bottles and nipples so that my husband and daughter could feed him, too. He is currently in his separation anxiety phase (which is a milestone and expected of a baby who realizes a mother's worth), and I've never been a fan of leaving my kids anywhere when they're too young to communicate to me if there's been a problem.

So, while I do suffer from anxiety, and do have "issues" trusting people, it also doesn't make logical sense to me to leave a baby who won't be able to eat, with people who won't be able to console him, while he can't communicate needs or issues. I also find that the fact that this is a very short amount of time in the grand scheme of life, that it's a little bit ridiculous to throw such a big fuss over the fact that I would prefer to be momming my baby, than out getting drunk. Do I value marriage? Absolutely. Do I think that everyone needs to spend time without children? Of course. Would I love to have some time away from my children? Most days, at least a little bit. (Kids can really wear on the ol' nerves.) But, I value the safety of my children and expect my husband to be on the same page when it comes to them. They are only babies for a moment before they're grown and gone. We have the rest of our lives to go out on the town and focus on just us. Not to mention, there are so many other ways to focus on us that could make us both happy and that are free or cheap that don't require a babysitter.

Of course, my husband and I aren't on the same page there. While I could happily uncork a bottle of wine and sit on the porch under a blanket, watching the stars and talking while the kids are asleep... He seems to think we aren't valuing the marriage if we don't get dressed, drive downtown, spend a load of money yelling over a crowded restaurant, and paying someone else to watch our kids. While it's okay not to see eye to eye on everything, there are so very very few things I'm set in stone over. I'm a cheap date, super easy going, granted him all the freedom he wanted, and have always done so many things for him regularly to help him feel loved and thought of and cared about. He seems to think he also does that for me, by going to work and bringing home a paycheck. He's officially done his part then.

Trailing on back to the topic of trust; I don't even know where to start trying to trust people more. I honestly don't want to. I don't think there's anything wrong with me wanting people to earn trust. What is it with people these days just thinking they're so entitled to everything from money, to attention, to someone else's body to my damned trust? I look at people too logically to just think everyone is trustworthy. From the moment I meet you, I'm already tallying, noting and paying attention. You're already getting filed away into my mind by the way you talk, act, dress, smell, and certainly by your stories and demeanor. And I rarely forget details. Maybe it's some kind of defense mechanism. But you can bet your bottom I'm listening and paying attention, and cutting no slack when it comes to whether or not someone is qualified to have my children's lives in their hands. Obviously the place you've filed away into, can change. The more I learn about you, get to know you, see you... it's ever changing.

But here's where my grudging comes in. Once someone has chosen to purposely do wrong by me or my children, there's almost no coming back from that. I fully understand that as Christians, we're supposed to forgive. Most people seem to think forgiving and forgetting go hand in hand, but they don't. At least not for me. I can forgive you enough to continue talking with you, be nice to you, and help you when you ask for help. But I have absolutely not forgotten who you are. And it would be so very unwise for me to do so, to just give you my trust again. That would make me naive, wouldn't it?

It's such a strange subject for me. I'm trying to see flaws in myself as far as trust and grudging go, but I'm always constantly reminding myself of why I have every right. This is my life, my heart, and at times, my children's hearts and lives. The most important things on this Earth to me. Why in the world would anyone just throw caution to the wind when they have already been so wronged, or have learned a person's true (and not good) ways? My husband has made me feel so flawed over these things for so long, that I really believe him, that these are major issues for me. But I wonder if there's really so much wrong with the way I view these things.

Just over a month ago my husband's coworker rolled his car and totalled it. So my husband let him borrow one of our cars. While logically I thought that it was unwise; this man suffers from depression, makes over an hour commute to work, and just totalled his own vehicle, my husband thought differently. He blatantly ignores things like those, and I'm not sure why. Perhaps he wants to look like the good guy or the hero. Being the wife and person I am, I stood behind my husband's ultimate decision without argument. Just last week his coworker wrecked our car.

It cannot be pure coincidence that I'm always right about people. And because I am, I have to listen to myself; my gut and my heart. Signs from God, perhaps. Wisdom. Intuition maybe. It drives me mad with anxiety when I go against my own natural feelings. But I'm not sure why my husband and I can't see things more eye to eye.

He has a friend, who he'd still call a best friend, for some unknown reason. No, his reasoning was because they grew up together. And again, there's that 'I've known you for so long you owe me your trust and friendship' thing. This man once almost killed my husband, while I was pregnant with our first child, and my husband still thought he was just the best thing since sliced bread. Every single time they got together they made horrible choices that badly affected their wives and children. Once, this guy showed up at our house around ten at night, with a case of beer and his one year old, while our baby was a newborn. He proceeded to hit on me while my husband was in the garage, got so shitty he couldn't drive home, pissed on my couch and then stole my car from the driveway and disappeared. I'd recap that, but I'll just let it soak in. My husband STILL called this guy his best friend!

I on the other hand, obviously couldn't trust him further than I could throw him, and likely never will. My husband judges me harshly for that, and I don't understand it. How am I made to be the one who's not acting right by refusing to be friends with this guy, or trust him at all? I will never ever forget the day my husband nearly died, running down the middle of the street screaming his name while I was pregnant because he was laying motionless in the road over stupid choices by this guy who would do it again! Yet I'm made to be the problem somehow. It's killing my soul. I can't win. I'm not trying to win though. I'm just trying to understand me, my husband, my marriage... my life. What's wrong with me? What can I change? Will I be forever broken? Damaged goods, unworthy of true friendship and a happy marriage?

Over these past few weeks I've come to a realization that no matter what issues I have as far as trust, there is something much deeper and underlying that causes my husband to trust people in ways that hurt him, his family and his bank account, over and over and over again. He can't say no to people either, which has also caused a huge number of issues in our relationship. I truly think that for all the things in my life that have lead to me having such poor trust in the human race, I was only set up for failure in this marriage, in this specific relationship.

My husband has broken my trust in ways that no other human being ever has. From horribly deceptive lies, manipulation and cheating. If I had to repair myself before and couldn't, how will I ever heal now? I don't even know where to start. I don't even know if all the problems I have with myself, or have been told I have, are really problems anymore. Is there really so much wrong with me? Or was it manipulation from the very beginning, taking what small problems I had and amplifying them until I felt and maybe even acted like some kind of monster because of it?

No one is perfect. But I just want to be in a relationship where I don't feel like I have to be, and that if I'm not, I'm just not worth a thing. Not worth honesty, not worth commitment, not worth love. That's where I am now. All I want is to be me with someone who loves me and helps me through my issues or flaws. I want to be with someone who's going to bring out my very best, and so in return I can do the same. I want to lift each other up and be a team based around love and trust, even, or especially, when times get tough. How do I get to a place like that? How can we ever repair this broken of a marriage now? If I can't trust his mother who took money from us when we were pregnant with our first and trying to get his license, how will I ever ever trust him again? How will I ever trust anyone ever again?

Backstory

I wanted to write up a backstory to attach to my "introduction". It would help to know an outline of my past and present, and maybe help me to pick pieces apart little by little to help figure things out and ask questions. It's really important to me that it's realized this blog/journal is in no way intended to expose or hurt anyone. It's simply the truth of my life and how I've viewed it. I know that one day my family will see this. I want them to someday, I think. It's so hard to say with the relationships we have currently. With the things this will dig up and the hurt it will surely bring. But hopefully in that, there will be healing, too.

I was born in the Texas panhandle to an eighteen year old single mother. She had a boyfriend who she met working in my grandad's bar, who would remain the man I consider my dad, until I was in middle school. My biological father signed over his rights to me, and I recently got in touch with him a couple of years ago. I learned that I also have a half sister. We don't look anything alike.

While I can't remember, I've heard stories that I hope to learn more about when I'm ready, about my grandmother kidnapping me, and my 'dad' beating up on my mom all the time and one specific instance of him threatening to kill us. I do remember their daily shouting matches, my mom taking off in depressions and my dad's drug dealer's house where I would play outside alone because he was busy inside.

I lived with my great grandmother (gram) in a trailer in small town BFE until I was eight. We moved into this big crazy city with my mom and dad when they bought a house here. My dad was in and out of jail and eventually went to prison and my gram was diagnosed with breast cancer that she'd waited too long to tell anyone about and get help for.

My mom got a new boyfriend who moved in with us and eventually my gram passed one day while I was in middle school. As vicious as everyone claimed she was, I felt that no one ever loved me as much as she did, and a part of me died along with her. My mother refused to let me talk to anyone when I asked her for therapy, for many issues. Eventually her boyfriend proposed to her and she said no and he eventually died of cirrhosis of the liver. She moved on to a meth addict who showed up at our house one day with a gun that had a rag through the trigger. To be fair, she didn't know he was a meth addict at the time.

I moved out of the house a week or so after graduation and into my current husband's duplex. We bought a house together three months later. We had known each other for four months. My mom eventually married, something she had stood adamantly against for, maybe ever. I became pregnant and my boyfriend and I married. My mom refused to come to the wedding and still claims that's it's because she knew our marriage would never work. She doesn't like my husband, and holds grudges for, probably ever. Really, who could blame her? All the shit he's done to me, I currently hate him a little, too. And if a man was treating my daughter this way, I wouldn't be his biggest fan either.

Flash forward to 2016, our baby boy is born and my husband cheats on me, for the second time, in August. While none of this is detailed and barely scratches the surface, I hope to touch on each story and memory that arises little by little. Some are too painful at this time, for me to open up about, but I'll get there hopefully. I'm sure this whole blog is going to turn into one jumbled mess, kind of the way my head always is, but I'm going to try my best not to care or let it keep me from being 100% real.

The Beginning; Write Like No One's Reading

As expected, I'm already putting way too much thought into my first blog post. What should I write? How will I write it? What will they think? And of course, I'm already doubting myself. What's the point? How long will I even keep this up? Won't it be awful anyway?

You see, I've had blogs and journals before. Perhaps five, maybe six in total now. I can't seem to keep up with them through the phases of my life. I think it's possible that I'm always too worried about how it looks to the public in which I pitch it to. Even my journals, always so public, could never really reach the depth in which a journal truly should. I couldn't let them. Then everyone might see the real me.

On top of that these days, I'm a married mom of two; one under one and one in school. I feel like my life is changing so constantly. Not because I'm always moving, or changing jobs, or because my life is just that crazy, but simply because my mind never ever stops. And of course, neither does the time that seems to flow by so effortlessly, no matter how hard I struggle against it and struggle to fit more in a day than can be managed in such a short time. Usually, it isn't even the important stuff; the things that really matter. I can't seem to slow down enough to prioritize those things anymore.

I want to do so much in a day. I want to cook three meals, I want to clean the house or keep it so, I want to enrich the lives of my children and make them feel loved, I want to make my husband feel special and happy, and of course I want to do things for me, too. At least enough for me, that I can sit for a minute and write, read the Bible, paint my dang fingernails for the first time in nine months. But then there's always the want to do something to help my community, my church, the world and the people in it. It can be so overwhelming, especially when you live in constant criticism.

Maybe I'm just horrible at prioritizing. Of course, it could just be my personality. Sometimes I put me down for being lazy. But really, I don't think that's it at all. I can go for days, so long as my mind is clear and my spirit is high. Lately I've been so overwhelmed with life, that even the smallest tasks can bring me crashing down. When I do actually finish a few things on my long and never ending to-do list, I'm more exhausted than I should be. Maybe it's just motherhood.

I've been told so many times before that writing, or journaling, is something that would help me to figure out the mess that is my mind. Or give me solace if nothing else. I do want my story to be heard though. Maybe it can help someone out there. Probably it will just end up a giant cluster of random postings that really do define my scatterbrained life, but at least I will have them for me, maybe my husband or children one day.

I know that some posts will be me, simply cruising through the day, an autopilot of something random, a venting or some craft or DIY we've done. But others will be painful, deep, and hopefully, healing. I'm nearly 30 now, and I've never focused on something so important as my own healing, and I hope that I don't hurt anyone else through the record of my feelings and memories. Know that this isn't to expose or hurt anyone, but that it's to help me understand and heal and hopefully finally move forward from the things that have been keeping me locked away in myself for so long.

Currently, I have a daughter who just started her first year of school, a son who's nine months old now, a tiny little home in one of the fastest growing cities in the United States, and a marriage that's so uncertain, laying at rock bottom with a looming divorce. The following entries will be, a mess, my story.