The trauma that keeps on giving

Today, I’m feeling a lot of things. Most days, I’ve gotten pretty good at allowing myself to feel and also being honest with those around me about what I’m feeling. Today has been a little different, though. My ex-husband’s mom was found dead this morning. Based on what I know about her, I can only assume it was due to an overdose.

The last words I exchanged with her were not pleasant ones. Just prior to my ex and I splitting up, I had called her because she gave my ex pills behind my back. She had a long history of this, and it had put my ex in danger many times. He was combining opiates and benzos, which is the fast track to death. She was the one supplying them. He was taking enough to get high as hell and then driving. There were times he was nodding off, slurring, and not making any sense. I feared he was going to die in front of me more than once. I was enraged. I had had enough. I called her, I screamed at her about how she had ruined my marriage. I yelled, and told her that if my husband died then it would be on her. I filed for divorce the next day.

I said those things out of anger. I said those things out of fear. But mostly, I said those things out of love. And they were the last things that I said to her.

It weighs heavy on my conscience. She and I had a very close relationship prior to my ex and I divorcing. There were times in my life that she was more like a mother to me than my own. She was my family. Her son was my family, so was her daughter, and her other son, and her parents…

I haven’t been on good terms with my ex in well over a year. Yet, here I am, feeling all of this grief about this situation. I don’t know if I’m allowed to feel this way, I don’t know if I’m justified. But I’m so, so sad. I’m shattered for these people who were once such a large part of my life. I’ve played what I imagine all of them finding her (they all live with her parents) was like. Over and over and over. I’ve sobbed. I’ve talked it out with several family members and friends. I can hear her mom’s screams. I can feel the weight of the pain of her only daughter. They had such a special bond. I can only begin to put myself in my ex’s shoes. It’s almost unbearable to.

It’s truly unbelievable. And how does their family think that I perceive them? We fought, we yelled, we cursed. Regardless of that, I give SO many shits. I care so fucking much, it’s stupid. I even attempted to reach out to my ex.

But I predicted this in so many ways. I always figured it would be my ex first, not her… I had mentioned to her many times that mixing the concoction that she did could prove to be fatal. She told me it was fine. She handed my ex another baggie of pills. And here we are. Here I am. I thought that I had resolved all of the trauma from that relationship. But it’s a relationship that just continues to ignite a response.

I heard a few weeks ago that my ex had been doing well. Mutual friends had expressed that it seemed like he was finally clean. I was overjoyed for him. I was just like, “Oh my god. I found my peace and he finally found his.” I was glad that things didn’t work out, because our love was just destined for failure from the start. We weren’t right for each other. Despite that, I cheered him on from afar when he succeeded. I hoped for the best for him. But I also stayed far enough away to not get hurt.

Then this happened. And now I fear that he will spiral again. But I can’t take on that personal responsibility. I can’t carry that. And as shitty as this sounds, I’m thankful I’m as far removed from this situation as is possible. The part of me that stayed with him for 10 months of him in the height of addiction, and throughout many bouts of emotional abuse feels guilty. That girl didn’t see herself or her value. She feels guilty that she didn’t mend the relationship with his mother. But what would that have brought to my life? Chaos. Toxicity. Nobody was in a place where they were healed enough to move on. His mother died without moving on, and I’m just… here.

The part of me that is empowered, and loves herself knows that I did the right thing. Although maybe selfish, in some ways… But we all have to be selfish sometimes, right? The part that they don’t tell you is that sometimes being selfish hurts really fucking badly, even when you know it’s what’s best.

I’m thankful I didn’t have to watch my ex die. I’m thankful I didn’t have to watch his mom die, either. But I will never stop being sorry for his family’s loss. Whether he will allow me to express that to him, or not.

~CC.

Moving (On)

Yesterday, I moved out of the house that my ex and I picked shortly after we got married. I had been living there by myself since the beginning of April. I took his name off of the lease in order to get him to move out 6 months before our lease ended. It was something that I could afford on my own, but it was a bit of a stretch and was financially a burden. I think in my time living there and trying to survive, I didn’t allow myself to truly go through all the pain and grief that accompanied living there.

Last night, before I left, I sat in the middle of the living room of the completely empty house and sobbed. I don’t feel grief over the fact that my ex and I didn’t work out. That relationship wasn’t for me and it wasn’t serving me. I feel grief over the time and the money wasted. I feel grief for the 2 years of my life and the ability to have the experience of my first marriage with my forever partner being robbed from me. I grieved because for my entire adulthood, I have moved around incredibly frequently. I thought that house would be my resting place for a more extended period, but it turned out to only be temporary.

I grieved the most because childhood me loved the life that I could have had. The potential of that stupid house. My childhood was always full of fear, uncertainty, and a lack of emotional capacity from the adults surrounding me. In my adulthood, I wanted the opposite of that so badly. Last year, I saw a 4 bedroom house with a picket fence in suburbia as a sign of safety and security. How wrong I was, because within those walls there was no safety or security in sight. It was complete misery for close to a year of my life. I constantly wondered what fresh horror tomorrow would bring. I lived in fear and chaos, yet again, just like when I was a kid.

Now, I’m moving into a small 1 bedroom apartment with my cat. In some ways, it feels like failure. Divorce is seen as publicly shameful. Moving from a 4 bedroom house into an apartment probably looks really negative to outsiders. But with the small apartment comes the safety and security I have always dreamed of. It’s a home that’s mine and no one else’s. I don’t have to worry about anyone ruining my space, and I don’t have to accept anyone there that I don’t want to be there. It is something that I did by myself and for myself. There is so much love and strength involved. There’s so much more self care and confidence that I never imagined myself being capable of.

Looking back is hard, but I feel like I am leaving some of the most difficult parts of my life behind me. For the first time ever, I feel at peace. I feel the inner parts of me that are childlike and broken slowly healing. The weight of all of my trauma felt like someone was standing on my throat. I didn’t know how to breathe. I fought the trauma off and didn’t allow it to stand on me anymore. Slowly, I’m learning how to breathe again. I’m learning how to live without this terrible, crushing ailment. I’m learning how to live, period.

And it’s beautiful. Even in a 1 bedroom apartment. Divorce is not defeat. Not being able to control a negative situation without removing yourself from it is not failure. Success is measured by your ability to adapt, survive, and stand in your truth. Remain strong, and don’t compromise your happiness or beliefs. It will all turn out alright in the end if you stay true to yourself and love yourself first. I’m living proof.

~CC.

Undeserving

I’m currently sitting in my living room sobbing because this beautiful girl has met me with so so so much love. And I didn’t even do anything to deserve it. I just existed. I’m so used to love being contentious or requiring something of me.

This isn’t that, and it legitimately scares the shit out of me to the point where I want to cry, scream, and throw up.

I had a bad day. One of my friends who I had been friends with for almost 11 years royally fucked me over.

I invited the girl I recently began dating (like went on my first date with last night) to come over and hang with my best friend and I. Upon arriving, she showed up with carnations that are identical to the carnation tattoo that I have on my calf. She also brought hot Cheetos, and limes which I had mentioned was my favorite snack.

I guess I need to back up. I met Goddess on Bumble and we had been talking for a couple of weeks. (I mentioned her in a previous post.) Yesterday, she invited me to come hang out and eat takeout at her house. I went over there and was extremely, extremely nervous. I drove around the block like 3 times just being concerned about meeting her.

Then I finally went inside her house and all of my nerves melted away. She was so personable and immediately gave me a hug upon arrival. We talked about so many different things that we had both been through. We played a game called “We’re Not Strangers Anymore” and got to know each other a lot better via that. At the end of the game, it instructs you to write a note to the other person. You aren’t allowed to read the note until you’re no longer in the other person’s presence. I wrote my note about how I thought she was really wonderful, beautiful, and genuine. And that I was excited to get to know her better over time.

After I left our date, I immediately went out to my car and read her note. Earlier in the evening, we had talked about how my nickname was “Ladybug.” She wrote in her note that ladybugs are good luck and she was so lucky that she had met me. She also commented that she wanted to kiss every part of my face throughout the evening. I could not leave without giving her a kiss. So I got out of my car, went up to her front door, and I knocked on it. She came to the door very quickly. Upon seeing me, she asked, “Is everything okay??”

I said, “Yes, I just read your note. Is it okay if I kiss you?” She said, “Yes.” So I immediately kissed her three times very gently. Then I said goodnight and drove home.

Tonight, she did all of these really kind things for me when she had absolutely no reason to. She sat and talked with my best friend and I. She laughed and she listened. It meant the world to me. I kissed her very passionately before she made her journey (an hour) home. She makes my heart skip a beat and she makes me feel so giddy and free. She makes me feel like I’m on fire, but in a good way? I hope that I know her for a long, long time.

~CC.

Out of the Woodworks

My mother told me that when I made my divorce public, people would come out of the woodworks. She said everyone would be confessing their feelings or trying to take me on dates.

I didn’t really believe her, if I’m honest. My self confidence has been pretty broken recently.

But, per usual, my mom was right.

Unfortunately, none of the suitors come across as particularly interesting or even qualified.

Plus, the thought of truly moving on makes me feel really sick to my stomach.

Do I want to fuck someone? Sure, that sounds like a good time.

Do I want to be emotional with someone? Depends on the someone, and the boundaries in place with that person, but the general resounding answer is no.

The men trying to pursue me have been very forward with their feelings and have even used the word, “love.”

I find myself unsure of what that word even means at this point. I thought that I knew, but my marriage proved to me that I haven’t a fucking clue.

Everyone has so much baggage. I have SO MUCH BAGGAGE.

And I have never really taken the time to heal. From my childhood, from abusive relationships, from hardships in life. One of the things I told myself I would do upon coming back to this blog is make sure that I fix my issues and address the past head-on.

I have a lot of toxic patterns and things that I need to address with myself before I can be the best version of me for another person.

I don’t want to relationship jump anymore. I don’t want to be in a situation where I can no longer afford my lifestyle. I don’t want to have to give up things again like I’m having to now.

I want to be fully independent; financially, emotionally, spiritually… I want to have self confidence that radiates and prevents me from getting into a situation where I allow myself to be hurt again.

I want so many things.

Nobody else is living up to those expectations.

And honestly,

Neither am I.

~CC

Things Worse Than Death

A while ago, one of my friends told me that there are worse things than someone dying.

I didn’t fully understand what that meant

until I wholeheartedly loved an addict.

Things worse than death:

Watching the shell of what was once your husband stumble, and slur, knowing he won’t remember your conversation in the morning.

Looking him in the eyes and knowing he’s fucked up but also knowing that he will do anything to avoid telling you the truth.

Wondering if during all of the happy memories you had, (weddings, your engagement, birthdays…) he was high.

Enduring that searing, sharp pang of betrayal every time he looks you in the face and lies to you again.

Holding your breath before you get home because you know that the person you’re coming home to is no longer the person you fell in love with.

Realizing the person who you married is dead already. The drugs have taken them from you and you can never never never never get him back.

Knowing that you can scream, you can cry, you can give ultimatums, you can pray, you can beg, you can offer every solution that’s out there, you can file for divorce, but you can’t save him.

Waiting for the day that you come home and he’s dead.

Knowing that he will never understand how much it fucking hurts.

Understanding that even if you go to save yourself, you will spend every day hoping that he finds himself again, that he finally loves himself as much as you loved him.

The biggest thing that will be worse than your immediate death is the constant, paralyzing fear that I will feel every day for your sanity, safety, and life after you’re gone.

Until the day your death actually comes,

and I hope at that point I am far enough away that it won’t hurt so badly anymore.

Hello, old friend.

It’s been a while.
Life has sped forward and come crashing down around me since we last spoke.
I find myself needing you, needing an outlet, now, more than ever before.

I entered a marriage on June 5th, 2021.
We had been together almost a year and a half at that point, living together a large majority of the time.
He was kind, he was intelligent, he was funny.

He cleaned the house. He saved money so that we could have nights out. He bought me the most thoughtful gifts. He supported me while I was getting my degree and working full time. He was my biggest cheerleader. He accepted me into his family wholeheartedly.

He looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world and made me feel things that I had never fathomed feeling.

I never wanted to get married.
I never wanted to get married until he looked at me, that is.

Fuck.

I never wanted to get married because, mostly, I didn’t ever want to get a divorce. Now, 10 months after being married, I’m getting a fucking divorce.

Why, you might ask?

He’s perfect in every way

except

he’s a drug addict

and I can’t save him.

I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help but feel like a fucking failure. I can’t help but feel fucking stupid. I can’t help feeling like I’m gullible because I was manipulated by him.

I wish he would just stop. I wish he would get help. I wish he would change to save our marriage. I wish he would change to save himself. I wish I was enough. I wish I was enough. I wish I was enough. I WISH I WAS ENOUGH.

But, I’m not.

This is my journey.
I can’t help but feel like someone is ripping my heart completely out of my chest and I need something to do with that pain.

Join me. Cry with me. If, at the least, this helps someone to relate or feel or understand the pain that comes along with loving an addict then that would be so much more than what it is doing for my mental health.

Thanks for letting me join you again. I’m looking forward to talking soon.

~CC

Diary: Pika 7-19-14

This.
Boy.
Is.
Perfection.

I can’t even handle it.
And I seriously just want him in the most innocent of ways, which is odd. I’m so not used to that. Anything that I’ve wanted with males recently has involved lotssss of fucking. But Jesus, I just want to hold him. I want to hold him foreverrrr. And kiss his gorgeous face, and just tell him how fantastic he is.

We’ve had 2 phone calls in the past 2 days that have lasted about 6 hours total.

It’s insane.
He’s just so chill.

We talked about my anxiety, depression, cutting, and the times that I didn’t really eat…
I’ve told him about B, and T (the infamous shitty fucking exes of mine)…
I even told him about my shitty fucking parents.
Here was the coolest part about it, though.
He fucking didn’t pity me.
He didn’t try to apologize for all the wrong that’s been done to me.
Which was fucking refreshing as shit.
All his reaction to all of it was that he didn’t understand how guys could screw over girls to get laid (like T).
Or how people could cheat on another. He claims that one of the few things he’s very strongly against is cheating, because it’s terrible.
Then he just told me how he thought he would have dealt with shit if he was in my situation with parents.
It was actually great.

My whole life people have tried to say how sorry they are and how they could never imagine dealing with some of the shitty things my family does and says… Which I think is a lot of the reason I reacted the way I did.
People made me feel as though I was a victim… But I was only a victim when I allowed myself to be. Having shitty
parents shouldn’t define me, or change the ways that I feel about myself. That’s fucking stupid, and I feel like I really overreacted… Not that some of the situations I’ve been in haven’t been bad, but I just made them worse by being self destructive..

But as Pikachu said, it’s human nature to overreact. He was really cool about everything, which I appreciate a lot.
I learned a lot about him as well.

His longest relationship was about a year long, and the girl cut it off to go to college.

He’s done every drug imaginable except K2. He refuses to touch that, because he saw some guy smoke a bit and then smash his face into a coffee table. LSD and marijuana are his favorites.

He is basically a genius, and set up a whole drug exchange system in his school where it was virtually impossible for him to get caught.

He’s a psychopath! A beautiful one, I must add. Unlike any other sociopath/psychopath I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He’s been diagnosed, as well. But he has this theory that if it was necessary to feel again, that he could…

He saw multiple of his friends get killed and commit suicide when he was younger. (Poor baby.)

His dad is a hard ass that was borderline abusive… Pikachu is thankful for that, though. He thinks he would have ruined his life and not learned respect had he had any other father.

His mother is a super Christian, and apparently a very nice woman.

He can’t stand filth, and everything has
to be in a certain place. Apparently he didn’t used to be that way, but then he became a stoner. (Smoking 4-8 times a day.) He said that he’d lose track of everything and be too stoned to find it, so then he just organized his shit so it was easy to find.

Gosh, and so much more… He’s so incredibly interesting.

He also told me not to feel uncomfortable about being bisexual, because he is also. That was pretty cool, because I’d seriously had no idea until he said something. Apparently he has been with some guys, because he feels like all guys want is sex… And at the times when he wanted sex, he didn’t want to hurt a female to get it.
Because they’re fragile, and get emotionally attached and shit.
He’s been with one girl, but they were fucked up on molly when they had sex… So it didn’t mean anything to either of them after the fact. He also said it felt wrong.

He says that emotionally he feels like he’s a virgin, just because he’s never had the actual emotional connection to someone he had sex with.
It was so cute, because we started talking about how the sex is going to be when he actually cares.
He was pretty much like, “The first time isn’t going to be in a car. It’s not going to be a quickie. It’s going to be amazing. There’s gonna be candles, and I have a hot tub, so that will be used…”
And honestly, maybe I misread this, but I think he thinks I’m going to be that person… The person he actually cares about.

I have this overwhelming feeling that I’m going to marry this guy.
That probably sounds fucking insane.
Hell, it is fucking insane. Butttt… That’s what I think is going to happen. And I’ve never felt this way before.

I could be completely wrong.
Guess only time will tell?
~CC.