You make me sick, how you advocate more for your wife than you do for your kids. How you’d rather spend time with her than with them. How you’d rather have conversations with her than with them. How you shuffle them off to others when you can’t handle them, or when you want alone time. You make me sick how you’re working so hard to save your marriage that you don’t realize that you’re losing your kids, and by the time they’re my age, they will come to resent you. They’ll be knocking on my door, looking for a place to stay and a listening ear. You don’t realize that they act out, not to get a rise out of her, but to get a rise out of you, because at this point, any attention from you is good attention and all they want is for their dad to listen to them.

You fucking selfish coward.

You make me sick, how you play the victim all the time. How you twist words, manipulate people. They make me sick, how they’re always falling for it. How they only see what they want to see, how they choose to ignore that you talk shit about the same asses you’re kissing. You make me sick, how you can’t control your anger and fly off the handlebars at any given second. How it feels more like babysitting a grown woman because she can’t keep herself together. How you get violent when you don’t get the results you want. How disgusting you are, with your control issues and your head games. How you’re still in the picture after cheating so many times. How you’re still in the picture even when it’s come to light, on multiple occasions, what a liar you are. How you’re still in the picture after trying to commit suicide in front of them, multiple times. How you’re still in the picture after pulling a shotgun out of the closet. How you’re still in the picture after all the bruises, all the mental and emotional scars you’ve left. You’re not a mother, you’re a monster. Your son called you on it today. He spoke the truth when he said he has “two crappy moms.”

You’re sick.

You make me sick, in that you say you put the children first, but you don’t. You care more about your friendship and social well-being with these people, that you are willing to lie in order to keep it up. You make me sick when you yell at them without realizing the realities of what they go through everyday. Are you saying it’s okay? Are you saying that what they endure through is okay? Are you saying that what is status quo in this house is acceptable? Because it’s not, and you should be absolutely ashamed of yourselves.

I may not have a lot right now. I may have made some poor choices last year — I should never have moved here, I should never have put my life on hold for others, let alone people that don’t appreciate it, I should never have quit pursuing my dreams because I thought I was doing “the right thing.” The right thing would have been flipping you off on my way out the door, with CPS on the line and a big ol’ “Fuck you” embellished across the ass of my jeans. But I can say this with a clean conscience and a heavy heart: I’m better than you. I’ll have the things you’ll never have, because you’re not brave enough, nor strong enough to work toward the things you want. You’ll always have your excuses and I’ll always be aspiring to accomplish more. I’ll love better than you, more purely than you. I’ll have (and already do) better relationships with others than you, stronger relationships with others than you, more honest relationships with others than you. And I can say, without a shadow of doubt, that these kids will always love me more than you, because there will always be a sense of safety with me that you just cannot and never will be able to provide.

Grow up. Stop putting me down to make yourself feel better. I’ve done everything right. You’re the only people standing in the way of your happiness. You’re the only people setting yourselves up for failure. You’re the only people sabotaging yourselves. And, frankly, at this point, you deserve each other.

How ‘bout that?

You changed something in me tonight. You broke something. With your clumsy words and those stupid hands and the fact that you’re not good enough for me because you’re not good enough to me. That was your only mistake; that you didn’t realize that the only thing you needed to do to change that was try.

Fucking coward. Running scared all the time. Running your mouth just to see who’s listening, just to offset your nerves, just to make yourself feel better, stronger, accomplished. Do you feel accomplished now?

Good. You should. You accomplished exactly what you set out to. You accomplished everything they said you would. It’s not shit talking if it’s true — you played head games, and you won.

Did you get that? You won. You made me fall for you. You made me like you, with your stupid jokes, and your stupid laugh, and your stupid, stupid rambling ways. You empty fucking fool.

You knew I’d never fill the mold. But you still let me try.

I’m going to bury this so deeply within myself, that nobody but me will ever see the scars, or know the hurt, or how much I cried.

So, I am traveling this summer. I am going back to school in the fall, and I am going to start working from home again and possibly freelancing. I’m in high spirits, and I’m really excited for all that 2012 is bringing to the table!

If I go back to school in the spring, then that ties up my whole summer, which means no traveling and all the money spent on transportation is wasted. But if I wait until the fall, then I’m probably going to remain unemployed for a while (not ok) unless I rebuild my kit and start freelancing again by prom season…. But if I’m freelancing again, if I can get back to where I was, then what’s the point of going back to school because I’ll already be making bank and then this program will only be a backup plan. Ugh! Too many decisions to be made!

So let’s be honest..

I haven’t left my bed all day. Except to take care of my dog, or go to the bathroom, or to get more tissues for those sporadic moments where I can’t keep my cool and burst into tears. I haven’t eaten or brushed my hair or made any attempt to talk to anyone (I think that’s been rather mutual today, aside from the teen — she would probably even cling to my side in a massacre).

I don’t know what this is. I feel like I’m on the verge of a relapse. And the first thing I need to do is ask for help.

But I’m gonna stay in bed instead. Because I really just don’t give a fuck.

OK. I just did the Insanity Workout Fit Test, day 1 (why yes, I did decide to start it on Christmas), and basically, I want to die. I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I could sweat; I’m sweating more than I’ve ever sweat before. As a runner, this kills me a little bit, and I’m a little scared to see how I’ll handle days 2-60, but we’ll see. If I see a noticeable difference at the end, I’ll post before/after pictures.

I’m going to go drown myself in a cold shower now.

I need to be around people that make me laugh more often. Last night was a lot of fun, but I was sad it had to end. I think it’s probably possible to have fun all the time if you really wanted to make it happen. I used to be able to mix business and pleasure. Not an easy task sometimes, but I made it work. I need to find a way back to that.

Wouldn’t it just be my luck?

To confess my feelings for someone just a little bit too late? Wouldn’t it totally make sense if I went out on a limb only to learn that I wasn’t alone in that, only to learn that someone else did it in a more timely manner?

And I’d try to be happy for ‘em. I’d have fake it like hell, but I’d try. ‘Cause they’d deserve it, you know, an honest chance with someone maybe a little less fucked up than I.

I’d try to remain positive about it. I’d fail. But goddammit, I’d try.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. But perhaps, now, it’s best just to hold my tongue until I know better.