So its been two years now since they showed up at the hospital the day Arianna was bornand told Jimmy he had proved his innocents and could come home from the molestation charges. Two years of trying to pick up our lives and move forward. It worked to stay busy. A couple of people who walked away are trying to walk back in. Its rough. To trust again. To forgive. A good example is Jimmy's brother who first accused us and condemed us from the start. Now two years later cause his son is asking he has come back into Jimmy's life. And we are suppose to be happy and ready with open arms. I think not. There is too much blame being held in peoples hearts for that. No one seems to be able to move forward past the pain of the past. Jimmy's entire family is so screwed up from the death of his father and the accusations to be able to move forward. I honestly dont think it will ever blossom from aquaintence status ever again. I prefer it that way for the protection of my family but it makes me sad for Jimmy. I know we still need to heal ourselfs. Sometimes we fight over our wounds. He may have been the one fighting for his innocents and having to take poly graph and psych evals but Iwas the the glue holding us together. I was the one who took care of three kids and the home. I had to prove my stability too. I had to prove I was a good mom too with psych evals and meetings. I had to find answers too. I had three kids to protect and one on the way. And now two years later. I am the one trying to help everyone heal. I am the one caught in the middle. I am the one everyone runs to expecting me to pass it on to the right person. Smooth things over, calm nerves, talk them through thier distraught emotions. NO one will seek help but me.I am everyones personand when no one cares if I am able to handle the extra bagage and keeps coming at me I get overwelmed. I love my husband but I need more too. And now more than ever. I am in trouble. I've tried to talk to him a few times. I have pulled away to try to cope on my own. But I am sinking. Tdoc says i do great in tragedy because Ihave no time to dwell. Maybe she is right. But maybe its more thanthat. Maybe its because Inever get a break. I have learned years ago that it will bemy job is to do everything. I agreed to it years ago when Idiscovered that was going to be how it was if Ichose this life. I chose to be a wife and have a family. I knew when I met Jimmy that he would always be faithful. He didnt have drug and alcohol problems like me. He had it together and was offering to build a life with me. Five years of me being a roller coaster that for Jimmy was kinda of exciting because he never knew what to expect but understandable after being diagnosed with bipolar 1. The next five years of drug experiments and hospitalizations I was able to learn what it was like to be stable. Thank god because it set me up to be able to stand the next twoyears of misery. To the past two years of healing. Unfortunately a few of the old bad habits have surfaced. Coping skills engraved 30 years ago. I am overwelmed. I need to reboot and start from scratch but I dont know how. I need a break. I need somthing. Jimmy has stuck with me through thick and thin. For five years as I learned to accept myself he stuck with me. Hopitalization after hospitalization. Medication after medication. No he doesnt know how to care for the kids the way I do. No he doesnt support me the way most men would. He doesnt understand bipolar and the fluctuation in energy that causes me to have a spotless home for awhile then a mess for weeks afterwards. He is traditional in a way. His job is to work everyday to support the family. His weekends other than soccer games is his to relax because he works such long hours. His job is mainly the yard. Mine is the inside of the house and the kids. I do the cooking and cleaning. I pay the bills and run errands. For fourteen years its worked this way. And in the past year when I tried to hold a job he actually helped me with the house work. He is a good man and he means well. I love him for it. But I need breaks too. And right now with this overwelming depression I need it more than ever. The problem has always been I dont know how to ask for help. I dont feel worthy. I feel needy and insicure and hate myself for being needy. and nowas I sit here and reread my rambling I cant even tell you the purpose of this blog. I guess its a cry for help. I need to get back on track and I dont know how. Maybe its the drugs. I secretly smoked marajuana. It helps relax and calm me. Then the doctor wanted me to get my medical card and try it for pain management instead of the pain pills. I thaught why not it works for sleep and anxiety. Oh My Goodness. My minimal use did not prepare me for what I eperienced. The overwelming parania cripled me. The depression creeped in so slowly that it actually caught me off guard. I swore I would never get suicidal agian after his father shot himself. I swore I would never think that way ever ever ever again. And it happened. Not that I am suicidal. But the hopeless dispair that makes you turn to suicide for release is consuming me. The old thaughts that bipolar is a death sentence and that this depression will happen again and again scares me. When I go to the docter and tell her I cant use Mj she just puts me back on the pain pills. What the hell. How is that the answer. Oh and I said I dont self harm but my new thing is starving. I got myself so psyched out that trying to eat makes me throw up so now not only do I have to choke down what I am trying to eat but swollow back down the vomit. It is great, NOT. So here I sit. Completely miserable with myself. FeelingI am not worthy of what I have because I cant be happy with it. Wishing I could excape but not knowing how. Desparate for help but not sure where to turn. Hating me and wanting to be a better person but not even understanding why. I dont steal. I dont lie. I dont even want to hurt others. So what is so awful about being me?
darnitdawn, , Depression, Addiction, Anxiety, Bipolar, Career, Child, Depression, Grief, Medication, Sleep Disorders, Suicide, 1