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My Suicide Note… May 21, 2018

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I am a statistic and I will become another statistic soon. I am divorced and one day I will commit suicide. People say I am clinically depressed and need to be on medication. If the medication will explain all the stuff that led to the depression and help me to stop thinking about it and reliving it, then I will gladly take the medication. I have even considered hypnosis, to help me forget.

Yes, this note includes the story of how a guy broke my heart and destroyed my essence but it also tells the story of how I was stupid and deluded enough to let it happen. There are very specific details I have to leave out to protect his identity but I will share the other stuff in hopes that this will stop someone else from doing what I did.

5 years ago I told God that I was going to try one more time. I was frustrated and I wanted to give up but I don’t really know how to do that and so I promised God I would try one more time. That day, I knew I looked like the world’s biggest slob but I decided to be brave and give it a try. I met a guy. I thought he was a great guy and I left feeling hopeful. I was sure something was wrong with me when I discovered how much I liked him, when talking to him made me smile, when I felt that “click” between us and knew for sure that we fit (whatever that meant). I didn’t think I was falling in love and I knew nothing would ever happen between us, because he is “HOT” and I am “NOT”.

People who knew him, commented to me and sometimes out loud on how different he was with me. I tried flirting with him, that seemed to work and one day more happened. I was completely blown away, he apologized because it was unplanned. I told him it was ok and it was great, not expecting it to happen again but it did and it continued. People started telling me what I was feeling was love, I didn’t believe it I had never been in love before. He even started telling me that I was in love with him and that I should guard my heart. He told me he had no heart because his heart was frozen solid and hidden in a dungeon somewhere.

He told me I had a beautiful soul and I am creative etc., he gave me my favorite nickname (I use it all the time) and I found out that he was dating someone. I tried to leave and he argued against it and told me I was making a bad decision. And so I stayed. I don’t know what I expected from him, I just knew I loved our time together. I loved:

*when he hugged me and tried to take the sadness away

*when I cooked for him and he danced while he ate which let me know he was enjoying his meal

*when we snuggled on the recliner and he talked to me as I laid my head on his chest (I loved the rumble of his voice as he spoke)

*when we cuddled on the recliner and fell asleep together holding hands

*when he trusted me to babysit his pet

*when he came over one day to make a surprise visit because he knew I was sad; I wasn’t at home so he left a note.

I didn’t want or expect any more from him because I knew that I couldn’t and wasn’t ready to give more. I told him I loved him.

Then the inevitable happened,

*he started staying away more than he visited

*he seemed to be always busy

*he told me we were incompatible and we would never be a couple because he didn’t feel that way about me

*he told me “he wasn’t going anywhere”

And I continued to love him because I didn’t want to be in a dating relationship, I knew the energy I would give and the commitment I would make and I knew for sure that I wasn’t ready. Except my brain went crazy and I began to act like the woman scorned. I figured out the things that triggered his visits and I used them to get him to come over. I wrote sad comments on his posts on his Facebook page and I wrote about how sad and hurt I was continually on my Facebook (the memories still pop up, reminding me of my lunacy). The one question I kept asking and I never stopped asking was, “Why me?” I couldn’t understand why he would choose me.

He blocked me on Facebook. He told me he didn’t trust anyone and that nothing I said or did could hurt him, which became a challenge to me and so I said things on Facebook, posted a picture, and really told him how I felt about what he was doing. Until one day he accused me of betraying his trust (I didn’t know I had that) and being hurtful to him. He hated that I talked to people who knew him to find out more about who he was because he wouldn’t tell me. If I tried to end it with him he would tell me how manipulative I was etc. but he was allowed to get angry with me and tell me he needed a “break”.

In all of this madness, my only question was, “why did you choose me and why won’t you let me go?”

He promised me forever and always. He had a sixty-year plan for us. I told him I loved it and wanted forever also. Except he kept letting me down. He would promise to come over and then not come. The latest excuse being, “I fell asleep”. He would punish me for lashing out at him (and oh my God, I said some super mean things). He told me I was crazy and normal people didn’t act like that. I had a psychosis and I was making up stuff that never happened. He would get mad if I called him or when I texted him and questioned why he didn’t respond. He kept telling me that he would leave if I continued to behave the way I was behaving.

I admit I was horrible.

I thought we had something that we didn’t have. I thought he would keep his promises. I thought forever and always meant something. I hated how we were getting less and less time together. How he told me he didn’t have to text me if he didn’t want to because he answered to no one. How he would go days without talking to me or punish me when I didn’t do or act the way he wanted.

In the meantime, my heart just grew more and more numb. I lashed out verbally even more and more. I would send text after text (because I couldn’t call and he wouldn’t respond), I sometimes sent emails. I could feel myself losing control. I didn’t recognize who I was and what I was becoming. I would tell him I was done, and I didn’t want to do it anymore and then beg for him to come back. He would say he needed a break and I would beg for him to not stay away too long.

I had thought that my heart had grown so numb that there was no love left. I couldn’t understand why I kept begging him to stay or to comeback. He stopped snuggling with me and holding my hand. I felt like everything I loved doing for him and with him he had stopped doing. My journal has five years of me asking God, “why did you put this guy in my life”? I have prayed, cried, begged, pleaded with God for answer. I even had a failed suicide attempt because I felt like I had been destroyed and I didn’t understand why God let him enter my life.

Last Thanksgiving, he shared the most devastating news with me. And when I asked why, he just kind of chuckled and told me he didn’t have to answer that. As I drove to New Jersey to spend the weekend with my family, I knew that the love I thought was gone was merely hiding and that I didn’t know how I was going to live knowing that I could love someone who didn’t care about me. That weekend I drove to NJ, drove back home to Maryland and drove back to NJ in 48 hours because my brain was so destroyed and my heart was so wrecked, that I didn’t know what I was doing. He told me he called me to check to see if I was ok. How would I ever be ok?

I have never recovered. I try to enjoy the little time I get with him but Thanksgiving is always on my mind. I live waiting for the day he tells me forever and always is over. My brain hurts and my heart hurts and every day I feel like I’m going to die. I keep asking him and God, “why me?”

“What is it about me that kept us together for five years, even through all my madness and anger and lashing out? I try to understand why he stayed after so many times saying he was going to leave. I have cried, I have said the stuff on my heart and he won’t answer.

I hadn’t seen him in a while and last week I told him “goodbye”. I knew he wouldn’t respond but I sent it anyway. And just like I thought he didn’t respond. The day after, I was feeling really excited about my new hair style and my toes (of course, the first person I want to share anything with is him) so I sent him the picture. We had a conversation and before long he told me that “I might see him that Friday night”. I asked what time, he said 2200/2300. I messaged him at 2315 and he said that he had fallen asleep and he would make it up to me. I decided to be forgiving but because I was in a playful mood, I asked him to send me a picture and to tell me how he planned to make it up. He never responded. The next morning, I said, good morning and there was no response. Later in the morning, I asked, “am I going to see you this weekend?’ he finally responded, “No”. That’s all he said, no explanation, no follow up, nothing. Just “no”.

I felt my brain snap (is this what a psychotic break feels like?) and I gave the craziest response ever, I didn’t even recognize myself. I wanted to apologize but I couldn’t.

One of the things I told him is that he doesn’t know how it feels to love someone who will never love him back.

He finally responded and told me were “officially done and I should never message him again. I shouldn’t respond to the text because he won’t see it because he is going to block me.” I guess you know what I did.

I still don’t know why he chose me.

I still don’t know why the hottest guy chose me.

I don’t know why he stayed.

I don’t know if he ever cared.

*I could write about how all of this has affected the rest of my life. My self-worth. My trust in myself, in others, and in God. There is so much to write about but I won’t share it because the one thing he taught me that will remain with me forever is that “nobody cares”.

I gave him all I could and I got nothing in return. I have nothing to show that he was ever in my life. I have deleted all our pictures and texts because I don’t want to be the girl who tries to get back at him.

If you ask him he will probably say I am mental, and crazy and making things up. That he never did anything and I just made stuff up because of my psychosis.

I lost five years of my life and I feel like I will cry forever. While he gets to walk away unaffected.

The craziest thing about this is that he will never see this note because none of my friends/or our mutual friends will care about me enough to share this with him.


Hey love,

Sometimes our heart chooses a person, there is no rhyme or reason.

I guess I will love you always

I still think you are the hottest guy ever

I can’t believe you chose me

I’ll never understand why

Have a great life!
Your Fay, your unicorn,

Forever and Always.



3.5 Years: It’s Over… September 18, 2016

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Let’s start from the end. It’s been three days since he told me it was over. My heart understands and accepts. My mind has been trying to make sense of it all. He asked me to meet him at the park, I don’t know why. I am not sure what he had hoped to accomplish. Did he want to see me cry? Was I supposed to break down and beg for forgiveness? I asked, “why didn’t you just send me a text?” I told him he made me waste my time coming over here for no reason. I tried to get in my car and he pushed my door closed and told me we were going to talk, because people talk about these things? HUH?!? They talk after a decision has already been made? I guess I might be confused about the process.

So I stood there and I let him talk. I brought up a few points and noted that his answer was the same as he had given for the past three and a half years. I realized that either he was clueless and didn’t understand how human beings should behave or he just didn’t care and never did. I stood there as he spoke waiting for my heart to feel something, to break, to burst, to explode, to disintegrate but nothing happened. I waited for the wobble in my voice that indicated I was about to cry and embarrass myself but it never came. I was simply annoyed that he didn’t just send me a text saying that it was over. A simple text or a phone call. I know it sounds impersonal but my heart didn’t love him anymore and it hadn’t loved him for a while. My journal and my conversations show exactly when I became aware that I had stopped loving him but there was part of me that had loved him for so long that it had become easy to say that I loved him. Even the email I wrote asking for my money back would lead one to believe that I still loved him but that is so far from the truth.

For three and a half years I only wanted to two things from him 1) be my friend and treat me right 2) help me to achieve this one goal that I can’t seem to figure out how to navigate and accomplish. He failed at both and for that whole time I was too afraid to walk away or stand up for myself, because my heart was convinced that I loved him and those few flickers when the “real” him showed up said that some part of him actually loved me.

That night I understood that:

  • he thought I was intelligent but yet too stupid to understand his point of view
  • he wanted me to be his lover and friend but yet invisible to the world
  • I don’t factor in his grand scheme of things and I never did
  • all he ever wanted to do was use me
  • he could throw me away as easily as he tossed his pet
  • no one matters to him but himself

AND most importantly

  • most of this was my fault because I let it happen over and over again. When a person is so hurt by another person that they start planning their suicide, it’s a huge red flag…

…stay tuned for the 3.5 years: the letter


Resolved… October 26, 2014

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I wish I could definitively say that this is my last blog post.

I had plans to get my doctorate, I figured I could do it within the next six years. I looked forward to be doctor. Honestly, I don’t think I could make it those next few years. I don’t know how I am going to get through tonight.

I am ready to go. I don’t want it to be long and drawn out. I don’t want it to messy. I don’t want anything that leaves people with bad memories. I am not concerned about what people think about me and I just don’t want anyone to hurt more than necessary (I know I am assuming that someone would feel hurt, but just in case).

I don’t know how to begin the process. Do I pack up? Do I tell the snake’s (if i call him by his name that will just make me cry more) owner to come pick him up? Should I wash the dishes and clean the car (saying her name makes me a little sad)?

Maybe I will get the laundry done, that way the clothes can easily be given away. I think I will clean the car. I don’t think I need to write a note, if my words weren’t clear before a note is definitely not going to matter.

Why am I thinking about the snake? I really need him to go home first, I feel responsible for him and I don’t want him to suffer. I need to know that someone is taking care of him, treating him right, talking to him. I know I don’t have to worry about him remembering me. I forgot about the plants. I should water them and find someone to take care of them. Maybe I should put them by the dumpster, plants are too much of a responsibility.

i just

Am I Pregnant? October 15, 2014

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I think God cried for me today. Some of this rain must have been the tears I couldn’t shed as once again I was forced to face a reality, I usually try to avoid.
She looked at me, said she liked my top and then asked me if I was pregnant. How many more times am I going to have to face that question? How many more times are people going to tell me that I am next? Or ask me when I plan to have babies?
Am I going to have to get T-shirt that says don’t ask me about babies? Single and loving it? Will never get a chance to be a mom? What should my t-shirt say?
I convince myself everyday that not having a family doesn’t bother me. I tell myself I am happy I have no husband and I am blessed that I don’t have kids. I can usually brainwash myself into thinking that it doesn’t matter if I never have children. I am happy. I love my nieces and nephews and that’s enough.
But there are the baby showers and the bridal showers and the cute little babies and the happiness and the questions asking me when and I am reminded that things are not right.
I have dreamed all my life of my family. I could picture them in my head, I knew my kids’ names. I didn’t want pets, I wanted a family.
And I can’t have one.
It’s taken me, 15 years to get to the point where I could lie to myself and say it doesn’t matter. 15 years of crying and doctors and struggling. I don’t want to be reminded that my life feels incomplete. And I don’t need to hear about the wonders of adoption.
So the answer to the question, am I pregnant is no. Can I get pregnant? By miracles. If you ask me again and I break down in front of you, will that be a good enough answer?
Why does this have to hurt so much?

The End… August 10, 2014

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I think about suicide a lot lately. I feel it’s an option to not having to spend the rest of my life alone. I think it would make others happy to not have to deal with me and my sadness anymore. Suicide would end my struggle to fit in, it would end my need to feel like I belong. I don’t want to be one of the crowd, NEVER THAT, but I want to know that there is some one, some group, some place I could go or be where I don’t feel like an outsider. A place or a person that welcomes me in my uniqueness. I don’t want to continue to feel like everyone is marching to a tune that I don’t hear.
Suicide feels like an option, because when I die I don’t have to worry about belonging or whether anyone cares. I hate when people talk about my laid back attitude or my beautiful soul and other sentiments like that, they simply mean you don’t fit, you don’t belong, I recognize you are different and that’s more than I want. I don’t care for your differences as long as they get me what I want. Your heart means nothing to me.
It’s not me, it’s you!
It’s not me, it’s you!
It’s not me, it’s you!
Every rejection smashes against my soul. I am obviously the problem. They talk about how special I am but yet force me to conform to what they want. It’s always: you do this, but I like this; I want; you don’t listen; I am not interested; you are beautiful but…
But what?!? What’s wrong with me?
I try to be strong and be me, but no one likes that. I try to change and fit their mold, I am uncomfortable, I hate every minute but that’s not enough. There is always something that I miss, something else I should be doing.
Suicide is an option because I am tired. I am tired of not being anyone’s choice.  I am tired of doing and doing and doing and giving and giving and giving. I am tired of opening up my heart and my soul and pouring it out and nothing fills it. The empty days and even emptier nights.
Suicide is an option. It seems like the only option now. My husband said, I never thought about reciprocating. All those things you did for me, I never thought about doing them for you. My non boyfriend says, all those things you do for me, I will NEVER do them for you. You mean very little to me, you are not even worthy of a tiny piece of my heart. The others think I am amusing, I am too sensitive, I am a nice person, I am depressed, I need medicating, I need to get over it, I need to be alone but no one thinks I need to be loved.
Suicide is an option simply because it makes things easier for everyone. No one had to remember to check on me, no one has to bring me a gift when they go out of town or send a text to say hi. No one has to respond to my text, not the really happy ones or the sad ones or the excited ones or the simple ones. No one has to ask me for help or get help. No one has to worry about whether I ate or showered or had a good day. No one has to worry about my mental or emotional health. Or my physical health. The truth is no one worries about those things anyway.
I have always said I don’t want to be anyone’s regret, and I mean that.
Suicide is an option because while I love myself, it’s exhausting to love others and get very little love in return.
Suicide is the only option because I am empty.

The Common Denominator… July 13, 2014

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I can’t ask if he is cheating because we aren’t in a relationship. We agreed to tell the other person if we wanted to sleep with someone else but I don’t know if he remembers. I can’t sleep. I hate being so anxious about this that I can’t function. The worse part is that I am beginning to think this is all my fault.
I wish it was easy for me to fall in love. I wish I was that girl who thought she was in love with every other guy that passed her by, but I am not. If I were that girl I would write this off as lust and swish my hips as I sashayed away. Except I know that I have been in love only once and he wasn’t my ex-husband.
The one says he is not interested in me romantically. He says there is no chance of a romantic relationship between us. He says he is not like my husband and he hates when I make references that compare them. But he is wrong, my husband didn’t want me either.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. There are guys from my past who remember a girl I don’t recognize. These guys want to marry me and be the father of my children. These guys swear they love me and always will. We broke up or never dated for a reason all those years ago, so I know it won’t work. Besides they don’t make my panties wet.
I meet so many new people and guys show interest in me but its only for the sex. I don’t wear fancy clothes, no heels, and I am fat (nothing sexy about me). Maybe I look desperate, that must be it, I look like I will settle for anything. I guess that’s why they are surprised when I turn them down. Some even get verbally abusive.
Something is obviously wrong with me, no one wants the girl I am, just the little bits they can tear off.
I don’t want to be awake in my big lonely bed thinking about whether he is cheating.

Happy Birthday to me… July 4, 2014

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If it were up to me I wouldn’t be here.  35 would be the age I would never become. I would be forever immortalized at 34. Maybe even 16. It’s been a long road to get to today but surprisingly not as hard as I had imagined.  I didn’t believe that things could get easier or life could be happier.  In fact, as I reflect on the last seven months, I can’t say that I noticed my life got easier instead my attitude to certain things have changed. I use to worry about my life, my job, my spirituality, my lack of friends and especially my health. 

Last year I met my soul mate.  I know it sounds crazy. I didn’t want to believe it for a while,  I couldn’t understand how we fit.  Two pieces from very different puzzles,  recognizing each other.  It’s the most complicated relationship that I have ever not been in, and for a long time I let it stress and test my emotional and mental stability.  I had gotten to a place where everyday I cried; at home, work, in the car, stores, church. I was like a wounded animal. One day I decided to stop crying,  I promised to stop caring and I tried to convince myself that I was “done with all this”. That didn’t work.  Nothing I tried worked until I decided to make myself a priority. 

I gave myself seven months to live,  those seven months expired in June.  I thought I was depressed, turns out I was just exhausted from trying to silently impose my will upon others.  I spent so much time trying to understand the “why’s” of life and people instead of living my life.  I was listening to what people told me I should feel, or think, or believe.  In short,  I was NOT the person who I wanted to be,  I had lost me in the noise,  the constant brain-rattling,  soul-smashing noise and I couldn’t find my way out. 

I stopped talking…

Then I stopped listening…

And the voices stopped
And there was silence. I looked around and recognized the place I had found. I knew then that everything would work out just the way it was supposed to and no matter what happened I would be fine.

Now I don’t worry too much about my relationship with my soul mate. I have made SMART goals that I am actively working on in all the previous worry-filled areas of my life.  Things are not perfect, they never will be and I don’t want them to be because then I will be done living.  I know there is still much to do but I am taking my time and enjoying every step.

I make few posts. I journal more and make to-do lists.
I take less pictures. I am too busy enjoying the moments.
I listen to less advice. I am a visual learner.

Lately,  I have been doing me A LOTand it’s the best and most rewarding feeling ever. The noise is mostly gone and usually whatever is left I can tune out with my personal radio station. 

Today,  I can say HAPPY 35th BIRTHDAY to me and really mean it!!!
Today,  I choose to celebrate me!

To the one I love (How I failed as a woman)… May 23, 2014

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My heart completely made this decision.
I wasn’t pretending to not look, yet secretly hoping that I would find someone. I marshaled up some courage and walked in that day. I just wanted some answers, an inkling of hope, an arrow.
Instead I got him.
People told me I was in love. I denied it. Of course, I wasn’t. The last time I was in love none of these emotions occurred, love songs didn’t make sense, I knew for sure movies and books about love were hogwash. There was no question about it, I loved this guy and so I married him and I hoped that what I felt was what a girl in love was supposed to feel. That didn’t work.
I don’t listen to peoples’ love stories, I don’t want to hear about how God loves you and I definitely don’t want to listen to the story of you and your honey.
I know what all the love songs mean now. They should be banished!!! As far as I am concerned ALL movies would be awesome without a love connection.
The moment I discovered love, I uncovered femininity and my life’s direction changed.
They told me I was in love and I denied it. They said its in the way you talk, your smile, your eyes, your walk (oh, they went on and on). I refused to accept it, but the feelings grew.
Love has forced me to face my failures as a woman.
I have PCOS and the way things are shaping up I will never have my own biological children. Guys want kids and even the ones who “don’t want” them want to know its a viable option just in case.
A symptom of PCOS is hirsutism. I get to have that. I don’t like people especially guys to get in my personal space. Why would I want you to see my facial hair? And please don’t touch my face I know you can feel the stubble from my not so good attempt at hair removal.
Insurance companies won’t pay for hair removal because that’s cosmetic. What does it matter that I am a woman and I would like to know what it feels like to be a hair-free woman?
There is a guy who says he loves me, he wants to marry me and be the father of my children. He has been saying this for years. When it comes to women, his turn off: facial and chest hairs on women. Funny, right?
Women with PCOS can be over weight. I am overweight, in fact, based on calculations I am VERY OBESE. I hate clothes shopping because nothing fits right. If I could I wouldn’t leave my house ever, I would wrap up in a robe and never look in the mirror and stop eating.
Everyone has advice on weight loss but no one holds your hand when you have done everything and a month later you’ve only lost a pound or your weight has gone up. How do you tell the skinny ladies at the gym to go home because they make you feel like a loser? Can I ask my friends to stop announcing and celebrating their healthy lifestyle successes and their weight loss? Will people stop patting me on the back and telling me I need to be more consistent and I will get there one day? WHEN IS MY ONE DAY?!?
PCOS comes with many other issues including depression and anxiety. The doctors’ solution: meds. If I gave in and took meds for every issue I suffered with there would be no point in living. I would be the perfect guinea pig for the pharmaceutical industry.
I never really got into the “being a girl” thing, so womanhood is enemy territory . I can’t say I would make a good guy either because I know even less about that side of the fence. Girl talk makes me uncomfortable. I know basic clothes and colors and hair. Girls talk about dating, I sit there and I can’t contribute. What would I say? We went to dinner and I paid? I had to go pick him up from his house? Or by the way that was my cousin. He doesn’t want to be seen with me in public, so we only ever meet at my home for sex. Yes, he is my emergency contact but no he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me where he lives.
Just writing these things, and thinking about the many more I can add reminds me of how much I suck as a woman.
I am not even sure I should mention sex here.
Ha!!! SEX!!!
I need to write it again.
For fourteen years I have been sexually active off and on. Thirteen of those years, I hated sex. It was boring and painful and unimaginative and uncomfortable (I am not too comfortable with people in my personal space or with people touching me). I have fallen asleep during foreplay, many times and imagined myself with another guy so I could appear to be genuinely enjoying the experience. I have gotten compliments on how great I am and been begged for repeat performances (I should win an Oscar). Eventually pretending became learned behavior. I had concluded that something was wrong with me.
I believe I can do anything but the thing that should be most natural to me I have failed.
It’s a good thing, that’s what I hear. I witness it in others and one day I hope to feel it reciprocated.

I am blessed (I think) and equally challenged, because I have finally met the guy who makes love songs and country songs make sense.
The problem is that while I love him. He doesn’t love me. I don’t know if he understands my struggle as a woman or if he even cares. He doesn’t trust me and quite often I feel like he doesn’t want to be seen with me in public. He tells me he will always be there (I am not sure what that means and I am afraid to ask). There are days where I see a different side of him, I feel safe and comfortable. I have no personal space when he is nearby. I want him to hold me and touch me and never let me go. He makes me want to fight the limitations of my womanhood, but what’s the point, because he also helps to remind me that I am less than a woman.
I know that no matter how much I accomplish. No matter the successes that I gain in the other areas of my life. Everything will be overshadowed by the feeling that I have failed as a woman.

The Amazing Spiderman 2 May 11, 2014

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Last night I gave up on the man I love.
Last night I gave up on 99.5% of the population.
Last night I gave up on my identity.
Last night I gave up on me.
Then I went to see Spiderman. As a matter of fact, I went to see ‘The Amazing Spiderman 2’.

Let me back up a little…
I believe in messages. I believe that God uses any forum necessary to get his message to us. I also believe that God reaches out and speaks directly to our heart when we have ignored every other message he has sent.

Last night I told God I was done. I told him I didn’t want to be nice, or patient, or funny or anything good. I told him I was off to get acquainted with my inner bitch. My lack of anger, the sadness and dread in my heart probably alerted him to the fact that my words were true and final.

I began to plan for intentional social isolation. Since I am the common unhappy denominator in all the social issues I raised, I concluded that removing myself would be the only logical option. No longer would I be forced to listen to excuses about being ‘too busy’, no presents to give or receive, no arguments/ confrontations, no bad treatment in the name of love, no crying etc.
Then I went to see a movie.

As I sat in the movie theater I thought about:
* the one who says ‘I can’t do anything nice for you because you will fall further in love with me’.
*the people who have never walked my story or even been involved in pieces of it but have an opinion.
*those that say ‘learn to live alone’, ‘be content with what you have’, or ‘go out and get what you need/want’
*ME, how often I reach out of my shell, step far out of my comfort zone to invite people into my life, to interact with others. The fact that while many claim to understand the surface layers of my struggle, very few have delved into the depths of my struggle.
My thoughts ran unfiltered through my tortured mind and as I chose to let it all go, my heart stop beating for a moment. The days, weeks, months, years rushed together and I heard…

… what makes life valuable is that it doesn’t last forever, what makes it precious is that it ends. I know that now more than ever. And I say it today of all days to remind us that time is luck. So don’t waste it living someone else’s life, make yours count for something. Fight for what matters to you, no matter what. Because even if you fall short, what better way is there to live? – taken from The Amazing Spiderman 2.

Instead of leaving my past, my present made the decision to stay and to fight.
They say ‘The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak’. They would be right.

As I sit here crying and writing because my spirit won’t let go, these words replay in my head…
‘Fight for what matters to you, no matter what. Because even if you fall short, what better way is there to live?’

The question remains though…
‘How do you fight for people who don’t want to be fought for?

Now I lay me down to sleep… May 8, 2014

Posted by insanity2insanity in Uncategorized.
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I love writing. I am discovering that I am not making time to develop my craft/talents. There are so many days that I dream about what I want to write but often don’t begin to write until I am lying in my bed with my eyes half-closed (just like tonight).
I climbed into bed tonight and I was prompted to pray that childhood prayer. But the uniqueness of the words made me want to write them down. 
Now I lay me down to sleep…
Lord, I want to thank you for my challenges. 
Suicidal thoughts: tried and failed twice. Didn’t attempt a third time because I figured I got God’s message. 22 years later I can say ‘I got it’. This lesson to be learned wasn’t about freeing the earth of my presence, or not going to hell, or caring about the impact of my actions on others. 
It was always about me, living the life I talked about. Accepting my choices and being fully open to the consequences. 
Depressed: feels like a never-ending state of being. I read some thing that identified it as a state of deep-rest.Deep-rest so powerful in its simplicity. Sometimes the struggles/trials are so multitudinous and so obstacle-filled that we believe our path is blocked and we stop. Our stop may be an admittance of defeat or a proposed short break. The fact that stopping was an option often translates into failure. Suddenly your rest becomes a pit of regrets and hurt holding you from seeing the present and its possibilities. Depression isn’t to be trivialized. I am there. I know exactly what it feels like, I know what I need to do to get out but depression can be like quicksand -if you struggle on your own with no plan you might sink further; its better to have a plan, move slowly and its always nice to have a buddy around who you are sure will throw you a life line.
Fear of success: 22 years of my life I was “small” and I hated every minute of it because I thought I was fat. People said amazingly mean things to me about how I looked, I didn’t wait to hear what the strangers said because those people were supposed to be my family. I never told them how they hurt me to my core and made me doubt myself. Now, I really fat and those same people who wagged their tongues before are wagging them now. I want to respond, to retaliate but I can’t, that’s not the kind of girl I am. So I write. I journal. I blog. I internalize. And I cry. 
Afraid to lose weight and feel healthy. Afraid because…
*Even though I ignore the words, I still hear them, and words do hurt
*I know I need help, but there is no one to ask. No one who will help me beyond saying I have to motivate myself
*losing weight means new clothes, new clothes means shopping, shopping means psychological and emotional torture… Nothing looks right or fits right, I am misshaped and deformed. No one has to tell me I look stupid, I already know it! 
My physical health suffers in my present shape but I am so afraid of not being happy in another form that I am stuck. And while I am continuously pushing others to be their best, everyone has given up on me and now I am lagging further and further behind. 
As I close my eyes and think about how stupid I look in everything I try on, every piece of clothes I wear, a flash comes to my mind and I think about the small signs of muscle definition I see in my arms and legs. 
Of course that might be my own delusions. 
Everyday I pray for a person, I don’t want a personal trainer, instead I want a work out partner. Someone who will inspire me not with their words but with their actions.

Someone said to me once, ‘if it wasn’t for you I would never have finished’.
I want to be able to say those words to someone one day.