Broken…. A Poem

Please, don’t judge, there is really no structure to this poem, but it’s not a story, or a “post”.  But tonight was a really bad night, and I let my pen just scrawl along. 

Broken.

I feel the familiar “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh” of the blood in my ears.

My heart is racing, pulse is 120.

There’s a buzzing in my body.

I’m sweating, everywhere, even my legs.

My brain is going to dark, dark, places.

I want to see the red blood coming out of my arms.

I want to see the raised skin of the scratch.

I want to feel the sting and burn of the cuts.

I want my brain to stop.

FAT, UGLY, HIDEOUS, GROSS.

Bad mom, yeller, ineffective.

Bad wife, “makes” hubby do all the cooking and clean

up from meals, undermines his discipline.

LOSER, CAN’T FINISH ANYTHING, STUPID

Will never change.

Always a victim.

Don’t SHINE, am a disappointment.

Not good enough, NEVER enough.

Undermines my own dreams.

I sit, tears brimming, threatening to spill over.

I sit at my desk all the things I used to use to cut at my disposal.

But I can’t cut, no matter how much I want to, I’m on blood thinners. I don’t want to ruin my kids’ life any more than I already have.

So I push it down, down, down.  The whooshing, shaking, and sweating gets worse. My head pounds too.

How long can I do this? How long will I have to do this?

No one is going to save me, or the little girl inside.  Together we will drown and choke on our labels; the labels of rejection and the labels we give ourselves.  Never truly happy; never truly whole—

Broken.

I want to cut

I want to cut so bad. The urge is almost unbearable. But I have to wear short sleeves tomorrow in front of my nephews birthday party, then to dinner with my in laws. And then Tuesday I have an MRI on my hip so I can’t carve up my leg… they’d know….

I am just feeling so low today. I don’t even know why.

This too shall pass?

Title…

I don’t know if I ever explained why I used the title I did for my blog.

I come from a community of people who are constantly telling me to smile. And well meaning people who tell me to “think positive”.

So, for the most part I hide my feelings inside.  I pretend everything is ok, even when my arms are cut up, or I have spent the morning crying.  It also refers to my signature move- stuff and avoid.

There is so much junk hiding in me, so many scars, and fresh wounds inside it would probably scare people away…. so those are “the things I hide inside”.

Even now, I have backslid in terms of depression, but I am keeping it hidden inside. No one knows I am constantly on the verge of tears, I am irritable and have a low tolerance for everything….

Homework

Princess Glitter Sparkle, much like PollyAnna assigns homework.  I told her this week that inside her isn’t blood it’s glitter. She’s just -glitter.  There’s no way else to describe it.  She’s glitter in people form.

So she asked me to draw what I want to look like inside- and this was the result..

fullsizeoutput_b55TR5a7nzGRgC3+k83qTlxxQqFOxd2xARPqE9uZp3D0DZwsFw76sneQBG2wfUnH7dqtw

So tired

I am not talking about physically tired- though I guess I am that too- I am talking about a weariness that has settled deep into my soul.  A bone crushing exhaustion that comes from years of fighting.

I am tired of everything always being so hard.   I understand we all have our crosses to bear, our difficulties to get through, but anyone who knows us can and will tell you that we have had more than our fair share.  We have had to fight and jump hurdles for the past 20+ years.  My dad said tonight (when I told him hubby was denied disability and now we have to hire a lawyer) that we are going to get tired of jumping over hurdles.  My response to him was “Dad, I am already tired of jumping over hurdles I am crawling under them”

I have spent most of the week oscillating between angry/irritated and sad, not just sad, I don’t even know what the word is.  That word that means that everything and anything can make you cry.  I used to never cry, now I cry every single day.  It can be a song, it can be the way someone says something to me, it can be anything at all.  I am so tired of being so unhappy all the time.

Will it ever get better, because from this vantage point, I don’t feel like it will ever get any better- ever….

Poverty

People in Poverty: A part of the general population of a given area, who do not have adequate resources to live fully independent lives.  These people tend to need help in the areas of Food, Healthcare, Education and sometimes even cash benefits (as in TANF-Temporary Aid for Needy Families).  Also a part of the general population that many people discriminate against, make unjust assumptions about, and have attitudes that cause those in a state of poverty shame.

This was my definition.  I didn’t look it up.  I spoke from my heart and my experience. My family is poor.  Am I ashamed to say that? A little. Am I ashamed when I pull out my electronic benefits card (EBT- not sure what the T stands for) to pay for purchases of food, or other things because we collect TANF?  Yes.

I am mentally ill.  You all know that.  I have recently added personality disorder to my ever growing list of mental ailments.  So that would be major depressive disorder, severe, recurrent, treatment resistant; OCD; PTSD; Trauma; Severe Generalized anxiety disorder. I can not work. There are days I can’t leave my house.

My husband is sick.  Do we know exactly what’s wrong with him? No. He has seen so many doctor’s but it always ends up the same, herniated disc at L5S1, some sort of cyst on his S2 vertebra, desiccation of the L4 disc. Fibromyalgia, migraine headaches, major depressive disorder, and I can’t remember the rest of the list. But it’s long.

My husband first became sick in Oct 2013.  He continued to get worse until June of 2014, when he was working at a car dealership as a mechanic and almost dropped a mustang off the lift.  It was at that point he realized he shouldn’t be working.  His exhaustion and pain were too intolerable. He went out on short term disability, and eventually lost his job.

We looked at the bright side of it, and he started his own business in January 2015, and tried really hard to run it all alone for 2 years 2 months.  He was successful, turning a profit each of those years, however, the pain and exhaustion worsened, the depression at his situation worsened, he herniated the disc, and in March of 2017 decided he couldn’t keep up and he closed the business.  This was a blow to us.  Financially of course, but also emotionally.  I still tear up when I drive by the place, or think about the stack of business cards he has.

Today he went to see a new rheumatologist.  She was rude, condescending, unaware of his medical history, and made snap assumptions.  Just because she never received a copy of his two most recent MRIs she basically told him he was a liar.  She told him that “chronic pain” is subjective and he should go back to work, and work through the pain.  This all within minutes of meeting him.  He feels she looked that he was on medicaid, and out of work and therefore poor and lazy.  She said he doesn’t have fibromyalgia despite the fact that she didn’t even examine him or do the pressure point test.  Despite 4 other doctors diagnosing him with fibromyalgia.

To say I was angry about this appointment is an understatement.  But there isn’t anything I can do about it.  There is nothing he can do about it.  I am so sick of the rhetoric that vilifies the poor.  We are not all lazy, free-loaders.  Some of us are fighting physical or mental battles that you can’t see.  You all know what they say about assumptions….

We are still waiting on the decision for disability.  We’ve been waiting for almost a year. I know this can be a long process, but after today’s visit we are discouraged and just want this all over.

I know I have said it before, and probably a lot lately, but this is not the life we planned for.  Not the life we imagined when we were two young starry-eye kids planning their future. Never did we think we would be poor, we didn’t imagine to both be disabled in one way or another, we didn’t imagine so many things.

We are trying to adapt, to find new dreams, but it’s hard in the face of the adversities we have encountered.  We are trying to just trust in God and His perfect plan.  But when you are kicked repeatedly and you are already down, it takes it’s toll.

And for me that looks like indulging in one of my three compulsions- self harm, spending money we don’t have or compulsively eating.  Today my drug of choice was self harm.  The insides of my lower arm are carved up.  Im not sure why physical pain helps when I am hurting so badly, but it does, for a little while. And now a several hours later, the anger has subsided some, but a deep rooted, soul-crushing sadness has overcome me. I wish that we would catch a break, we need it.

A Year Already?

Yesterday when after I posted about the book, I saw the archived posts link on my front page, and I saw January 2017, my first thought was no way, I started this thing a year ago? And I clicked on it, and to my surprise yes- it had been a year today since I started this blog.

There hasn’t been much change in me in a year.  But I don’t know if I should expect there to be. It’s taken almost 40 years to get to this point, I can’t expect that in a short year I can undo all the damage that has been done.

My family has seen some changes- my husband closed his business and is unable to work, I stopped homeschooling and both of my kids are in public school and doing well.

But I have found a voice.  A place where I can lay it all out.  Sure I hide behind the screen.  I haven’t shared my name, or where I am from.  And only a few people I know in real life read this blog.

Well happy blogversary to me!