“I Don’t Want To Be My Self Anymore”

Back in 2012, I was admitted into the hospital. I started writing on my journal. This was from Day 1:

I’m in the psych ward. Sucks that I’m not allowed to use my cellphone or my iPad but this gives me a good reason to use this journal.

Stress was piling up over the last few weeks. It just seemed like I couldn’t catch a break it felt like I was pulled from every direction. I thought I could hold my feet firmly to the ground but last night, I had a complete mental breakdown.

My marriage is very important to me. It is the foundation of my livelihood; it’s what keeps me from losing all hope. Jason [Jeremy’s brother] decided that since he couldn’t take Jeremy away from me, he used me as a reason to finally set out what he wanted to do. I know the asshole doesn’t like me, but why lie? Why make up something that I supposedly said? Never in my life have I ever lied on someone. I have done some fucked up shit in the past but I know my limits. And making up stories about someone is never cool. It bothered me so much that Jeremy believe him. Then came the devastating news that separation is justified because I am causing a rift between he and his family. It also came as a final decision that he was abandoning me like my mother did.

Sidenote: If I had my phone on me, I would be tweeting this shit I have seen so far all day. Kinda makes me realize that I’m not that crazy after all.

So I panicked – swallowed a handful of pills. Everything after that has been a blur – from going to the hospital, now here.

Maybe I needed this. Maybe this could help me after all. My stress management and coping skills are awful. I am constantly anxious and worrying about everything. The littlest things can easily set me off and worst of all, I feel like people are purposely giving me a hard time. the thoughts of people coming out to get me started to consume my every day being.

Jeremy just came to visit me. It was heartbreaking but it helped me a lot. Why did I ever take this for granted? How could I think that my husband never loved me when he has put up with my shit for the last 9 years? Seeing him cry was painful. He was so worried about what to tell our children. I really don’t know either. But I feel good knowing that they’re taken care of. But I know eventually that they will start asking Dad questions about where I am.

I miss Michael and Camden. I miss Ginger and Bob. Jeremy brought some stuff for me and I could smell home. So I spoke to them on the phone and they didn’t seem worried so I’m glad. Jeremy is doing a great job handling the daily chores at home. He’s even taking care of the dog and the cat. This eases my anxiety a little bit because I used to think the household can’t be ran without me.

This place is very interesting. Full of characters. Apparently, I’m in the wrong unit as this unit is for people with aggression issues. There’s actually a unit for people with just depression and I really hope they move me there. I think I can get through this easier if I’m not around these disturbed folks. They’re mostly nice, but a few are a bit scary.

I can’t wait for Jeremy to bring me my cupcake from Frosting. It is such an awesome treat especially after what happened in the last 24 hours.

My goal is to get better mentally and emotionally. Whatever horrible that happened in the past. I need to start living, not just existing. I need to stop thinking about what could happen and always think positive, not matter how difficult it may be. I always think of the worst and I end up reacting the wrong way and that’s how I ended up here. But I’m going to honestly believe that being here may help me and I have to allow them to. I cannot continue to hurt Jeremy this way and I am absolutely aware that my kids will suffer without a mother.

I know Jeremy may think that this is a temporary fix but I have to prove to him otherwise.

Me vs. Me

I don’t have a lot of good things to say about myself. This is the part where you may expect me to blame my parents because they never gave me any kind of compliments other than my cheekbones or how beautiful I am because my mother is beautiful and her mother was beautiful. To be honest, beauty can only get you so far in life.

I know I’m smart. My problem solving skills are getting better every day. I love technology. I can easily learn how to use new software with minimal supervision. I can figure out how to put out a fire without panicking.

I know I’m creative. I have a portfolio full of amazing projects that I am very proud of. I use this creativity every day at work because it’s part of my job description. Sometimes I surprise myself at how my creativity doesn’t end. I never run out of ideas. I never run out of different ways to convey messages and attract demographics.

I know I’m caring. I love my kids. I love my husband. I love my siblings even though a few of them don’t reciprocate, but it doesn’t bother me…I’d walk through fire for them. I’d walk through fire for people I care about, even though I know some of them wouldn’t do the same for me. I don’t have a big heart, but my heart is so full of love for those that matter to me. My kids..my husband…if I knew how much I loved them, it would probably kill me (quoting “Riding In Cars With Boys”).

My pets. My beautiful pets whom I don’t even consider as just pets. They’re also my children. They depend on me for survival. I feed them, I shelter them, I check on their health, I make sure they don’t go without — just like I do with my children.

But what I don’t know is the kind of person I am inside. I’d like to think that I’m a nice individual with a big heart who just wants to make my loved ones happy. I’d like to think that I do good things without expecting anything in return; because honestly, I don’t. I’d also like to think that people think that way about me.

Then there are some individuals who believe that I do good things to get something out of it. That I have ulterior motives for doing good deeds. And as much as I try to prove to those that it’s not my intention at all, they refuse to believe it.

I have opened up to a few people. A few people know me inside and out and what I’m capable of. I’m capable of doing good things, of change, but I am also capable of destruction — both self and everyone else around me. I try to do less of both. My insecurity gets the best of me. I don’t have good explanations or reasons of the destructive things I do other than…this is what I do when I don’t feel good about myself. And a lot of times, I don’t feel good about myself.

I try to stop depending on others to validate my self-worth. I try to look into myself to see the good in me. But it’s hard when you have people who don’t think you are capable of changing.

I’m 36 years old and yet, I still need some kind of validation from others. It could be about the smallest, pettiest thing…I still need a person to say, “Yay, you’re awesome.” I know I don’t need that. But this brain of mine…oh no, it wants it. It’s an addiction. It’s a disease. A disease stemmed from years of being told I’m worthless and I will never go far. I’m addicted to receiving praise and compliments that I don’t even know how to respond to.

I mask my insecurity and self-doubt with humor and sarcasm. If I even say a nice word or do a good deed, the judgments come in (do you all see the irony in this?). So I do less of the latter and just continue on being my sarcastic, asshole self.

I’m just one person trying to do it all. Scratch that there are people out there who don’t think I’m capable of changing, of being a different person than I have been these short years I’ve been on this planet. I am going to try to keep changing. I am going to try to do things that make me feel good in a long term sense and not just for the moment. I am going to keep doing the things that I know won’t get me any recognition or credit because I know I don’t need it. I am going to focus on my loved ones, to make sure that they get all my love and attention because they deserve it. I am going to distance myself from those who doubt me on a daily basis, who think my heart is made of stone because even though I really want to prove to them that I’m not as evil as they make me out to be, they will never change their minds.

Those people, who think I’m toxic, I can’t make them stop thinking that way. They will always see me as such. They will read this and think, “Oh…nice try trying to convince me that you’re a changed person.” This is not why I’m writing this. I’m writing this because I have a hard time putting my emotions and my thoughts out loud. But I am pretty damn good at writing them down. If they even gave an ounce of shit about me, they’d read this the whole way through.

If you read this the whole way through, I owe you my gratitude. You’re the real MVP.

I Wrote A Suicide Note

Because…I don’t know. Because there are days when I’m terrified of tomorrow. Because tomorrow is unpredictable. Unpredictability terrifies me. Because I have so much bad shit going on around me that it’s literally tearing me apart inside. But at the same time, I’m clinging on to whatever sanity I have left and hoping for that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

I wrote a suicide note because if I do finally put an end to this “woe is me” life, there are no unanswered questions. It’s right there…the reason why I decided to strip the world of my existence. I wrote the reasons down…people I love wouldn’t have to ask why. The reasons would completely relieve them of what they could’ve done to prevent it. Because the reasons are there to say that there was no way it could’ve been prevented.

I wrote a suicide note because I don’t trust myself. I have been to that point in my life more than once when I tell myself that I’m done. Completely. That point when I’m so terrified to be alone because no one will stop me from swallowing whatever poison I could find. I was alone the last time I was in that dark place…clinging to life…my husband saved me. He didn’t let me die. He drove me to the hospital in tears while I begged for him to turn around and let me go. I didn’t have a suicide note then.

I wrote a suicide note and left it in my wallet to remind myself that I have something to live for. It’s a weird reminder, but it’s a reminder. I open my wallet every single day and every single day it’s a reminder that I am still alive. It’s a reminder that each and every single day, no one else knows what’s in that note. Only me and me alone.