life-is-hard-2002

[life-is-hard-2002]

When I moved out here, Jack direct messaged me on instagram. I sincerely believed he had overdosed. He told me he liked the picture of me and my boyfriend from that summer and asked why I didn't tag him in the photo. I didn't tag him because of my fear that Jack would somehow find him, even though I was still hoping on him being dead. After that dm, I didn't post again for another year. He knew what state I was in and he knew my best friend's instagram account and what school she went to. In a way I was protecting them both when we cut ties, they were no longer targets. I was manic, paranoid, and very very scared. Why would a man I hadn't spoken to in years reach back out? Is he stalking me or was it just a sick joke to further torture me? Was he really going to come to the state I moved to like he said? Who knows, but it's been 16 months and I have yet to see him. He's one of the only men to ever hurt me that I wasn't able to make fear me back. Every guy my age who mistreated me saw my crazy front and proceeded with caution and quickly retreated after it reached a breaking point. I effectively scared away my biggest threats. But not him. How could I ever pretend to be more than a scared child when an adult was doing to me what he did? The was no way to hide the fear in my eyes. Just like I couldn't hide my fear when I looked into Jeremy's eyes as he choked the life out of me. Because when you think you're going to die, it's damn near impossible to think about anything other than how to survive. And they love that shit. The power they feel when they're stronger than a malnourished fucking 15 year old girl. I suppose it's the only time they ever feel powerful. Since I moved here I have been SAed or r worded every 3-4 months. Which is sorta crazy because I don't have a social life. My ex at thanksgiving, a woman on valentines day, a male friend over the summer, and a guy at a party on halloween. It's been three months since the last one, and I plan to be antisocial for the next two months in hopes of breaking the cycle. I don't even want to count what's happened with the guy I'm currently involved with. My most damaging recent mindset is if I never say no again, it'll never be r***. I was better off with the man who only violated my boundaries once than whatever tf is going on rn.

[life-is-hard-2002]

They would have been born in March of 2021, conceived in June of 2020. One year old this past March. Two years old in just two months. I would have named her Rose and if it was a boy I would have named him after my grandpa or after his grandpa, William or Chris would have been so cute. Or maybe something cool like a tree or plant. 

I don’t know why I still hold onto what happened. It was a relief in a way when I miscarried. It was the last thing that would have kept me trapped with someone I didn’t believe loved me. I fronted so hard that it meant nothing. Told the only two people who knew I was just going to get an abortion. I even scheduled it. But by then it was too late. And I hate the part of me that was relieved. I knew I was too young, I knew the dad cheated on me, I knew it would have changed the course of my life dramatically. Recently, when I spoke to my ex and we discussed abortion and pregnancy he said he was glad I wouldn’t kill a baby out of spite. I laughed when I read his message. Amused by how well I played the heartless character I created to protect myself. He wasn’t wrong, I told him about getting an abortion out of anger, I just left out the fact that it never got that far. 

I tried so hard to forget, and it worked until 9 months after the fact when I realized I would have had a baby. Then half a year later when I saw the clothes in the store for 6 months old. Then last March when I realized I could have been celebrating their first birthday. 

My own mom had over 8 miscarriages, mostly in between her first and second child. I couldn’t do that 8 times. I love too deeply and there’s nothing easier to love than your own child. I thought it was my fault, I thought it was my body destroying something because I was bad. I know that’s dumb, but I was so depressed it made sense. I drank the night I found those photos of my best friends. I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I screamed and cried so hysterically I threw up. And just a couple days later I realized my period was very very late. I bought tests, took them, then cried even harder and even longer. He wasn’t there. I called him, I texted, I FaceTimed. I was so angry that I was doing this alone when he was the reason I was here. He had left for the army just a week prior. And in that week my world crumbled. He didn’t know, he didn’t feel it. I booked the appointment. Told his sister and my best friend who I found the pictures of that it was taken care of and I didn’t want to talk about it ever again. They respected that, but I wish they had asked more. I wish they had given me a hug and told me it would all be okay. 

I think something inside me broke that day. I think that’s when I started to realize how alone I was. In all my worst moments there was no one there. And I tried for my first semester of college to pretend. But he was the last person I connected with and I’ve been too scared to since then. That was three years ago. 

!Trigger warning for graphic details!

I woke up that morning with puffy eyes from crying myself to sleep. All I could think that night was I can’t believe I’m going to do this, in just a few days I’ll have an abortion and this will all be over. I rolled over and realized my legs were wet and my sheets were too. For a split second, all I thought was oh shit I started my period that sucks. Then a wave of shock overwhelmed me when I realized that wasn’t just my period, I was pregnant. Something is wrong. No one was home, my siblings were at college, my dad was working, and my mom was running errands. I went to the bathroom and sat down on the floor. I sat there for hours just crying. I was wearing his Coca Cola shirt and his navy blue sweatpants that quickly turned a color closer to black because of all of the blood. I’ve never had painful periods, but that was the worst one I had ever had. What could I do? Call for help? Beg my friends to drive me to the emergency room to see if I could save a baby I deep down knew I wouldn’t be able to give the best life? What friends? The ones that helped the guy I loved cheat on me? I was so incredibly alone. I might have called him 100 times, finally giving up and hurling my phone across the room. I dented the wall and cracked my screen. 

I only told the truth a full year later when a friend of ours miscarried and I was trying to console her and I revealed I understood the pain. Another year after that he asked me “are you sure you were really pregnant? Are you sure you miscarried?” And I immediately broke down in tears. I was sure, but I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could convince myself it never happened because it still hurts and it feels like it will probably hurt until the day I’m able to carry a pregnancy to term. If I’m even able to do that. Part of me believes my body hates me and is punishing me in some sick way. 

I thought if him and I stayed together it would be okay. That we could try again. In the months that followed I got a palm reading from a new friend I made, she told me I would have two or three kids but she wasn’t sure which. Later that week I took shrooms and had a bad trip that lasted 16+ hours and left me unconscious for two more days afterwards. I locked myself inside my room and no one saw. I told them it was bad, gave some details. But I never told anyone that for hours I sobbed over how I killed my baby. How my body failed and how I didn’t treat myself well and how it was my fault that happened. I cried for hours over the palm reading thinking she couldn’t tell if I would have two or three because I already killed my first. I knew in that moment I could never go through with an abortion. If I already blamed myself so heavily for a miscarriage, then an abortion would surely destroy me as a person. 

I’m writing about this now because at the start of the week I met a client’s two kids. Their son was a premature baby, born 5 weeks early in February. His second birthday is next month. He has curly blonde hair and blueish green eyes. Last time I was at their house they had just gotten back from the hospital with their daughter, but hadn’t picked a name. They finally picked a name, Rosie. That sure was gut wrenching to say the least. They let me hold her too. She was so tiny. I finished the job, but told my manager I wasn’t feeling well and I needed to go home. The rest of the day I sat there wondering if the universe thought that was funny or if I’m just crazy. Their son was the same age as mine could have been. 

I hate holding onto to things the way I do. I know for everyone else it doesn’t matter. No one else ever thinks about what happened. He never sees a two year old and cries in a public bathroom about it. Maybe I’m just too emotional, but I can��t turn this off. 

We were still together in March of 2021 when I would have had our baby. I don’t think he gave that month a second thought, he probably never even did the math. I did. I bought socks. Pink and blue. I drove to the lake near my house where I used to hammock and buried the socks. I don’t know why, I just wanted to. I didn’t tell anyone because what do you even say? Oh yeah, sorry I missed your call babe, I was at the lake burying something meant to symbolize the baby I miscarried from the stress of you cheating with my two best friends, lol! No, I couldn’t because I never even told him how I felt or what happened. I avoided details and responded in extreme anger when it was brought up. I was just a bitch about it. But he was normal enough to let it go, just be angry and a little sad because his bitch ex girlfriend aborted his baby out of spite. It was easier that way. But I’m glad I told the truth, even if it took some time. 

I’m terrified to ever do that again. I immediately got birth control that’s meant to last for something like 7 years. I imagine my future and the idea of being pregnant terrifies me even though I want kids. I already know that miscarriages are common on my mom’s side. I don’t want to do that. My dad cheated on my mom durning the time where she was miscarrying every time she got pregnant. I’m terrified of that too. In my mind cheating and pregnancy are tied together in some weird way. I’m not wrong, statistically. Men cheat on pregnant partners at a higher rate, they cheat after they give birth and cite not being able to have sex as the reason. He didn’t know I was pregnant when it happened, so at least there’s that. 

I’m with someone now who doesn’t want kids. I know I want kids, but he’s my way or ensuring I don’t any time soon? He’s also just a piece of shit that I’m using as self harm because I’m a ball of self hatred. I’m not sure if it’s abusive, but it’s not healthy. I’m sorta scared of him and that’s enough for me to not want kids because I would never subject them to what I allow for myself. 

#miscarriage

[life-is-hard-2002]

anxiety

I want to be excited about life, about the progress I'm making, but I'm just scared. Everything happens so fast. People are here and then they aren't. One day you're 14 years old wishing for an escape and the next you're 20 and terrified. It doesn't help that I'm doing it alone. So alone that I can't help but wonder if I'm damaging myself further in hopes of protecting myself from the outside dangers. I'm in love with someone I shouldn't even care about anymore. I miss a version of myself that had to die so that I could make it this far. Life feels a lot like falling endlessly. And still wishing deep down that someone will catch me. Spoiler alert, no one does, or at least it feels as though no one ever will. I guess this is the start of me learning to catch myself. Life either gets better or I'm done, and sadly I'm a bit too stubborn to die just yet. I promised the person I still love that I would try, and as much as I hate the idea of living for others anymore, sometimes it the only reason I can find.

I'm filled with anxiety about failure. About money, connecting, getting my shit together, work, my car, everything. But I also often feel like it's my anxiety that motivates me. Aren't we all just terrified of becoming everything we never want? Or is that just a me thing?

[life-is-hard-2002]

1/2/23

January- reducing clutter

February- meaningful relationships

March- healthy hobby

April- working out

May- consistent sleep schedule

June- happiness

July- order and organization

August- financial abundance

September- academic success 

I live in a two bedroom alone and I have a craft room in my spare bedroom. My ADHD overtime determined that room to be the largest doom box I’ve ever had the misfortune of creating. Reducing clutter means addressing that room. As well as my Tupperware, clothing, craft supplies, makeup, and plant stuff! 

Since I lost the two most important people in my life, I have borderline refused to foster meaningful relationships. There is no one, platonic or romantic, that I have invested in heavily since then. Meaningful relationships is about making connections that I look forward to that are healthy and go deeper than the surface level bullshit. 

Because of a rapid decline in my mental heath and going off of my medications entirely for the first time since 5th grade, I have lost all energy for my hobbies. My current main hobby is fixing my life gradually. Progress is slow. Annoyingly, painfully slow. Why can’t I just snap my fingers and have the structured life I want? Having a healthy hobby, whether it be something active or artsy, would push me back in the direction of less empty life. 

When I was a kid I spent most my time outside. I played sports, did track, biked, and lived and overall active lifestyle. When I was put on Adderall after being diagnosed with ADHD in 5th grade, I stopped eating. My medications gave me the perfect jumpstart to an eating disorder that had been festering since the 3rd grade. The side effects being throwing up, passing out, overheating, a near immediate rapid heartbeat, and essentially no longer being able to have such an active lifestyle. I’m in my early twenties, there’s no better time to try again and build back a stronger and healthier body. A body that will be nourished this time around. 

Sleep isn’t something I’ve struggled with majorly, my biggest struggle would actually be that I sleep too much. When I was involved with the first guy I ever liked I would sleep 16 hours a day sometimes, only awake for classes or work most days. When I was overly medicated and displaying the symptoms of bipolar there would be days I was sleeping 4 hours a night for a week then 13 hours for a month with naps. I was a firm believer in not caffeinating and just sleeping as much as my body needed. Turns out your body needs a lot of sleep when you’re depressed and malnourished. That being said, I do wake up everyday at 6-7:30am and going to bed at midnight only allows me to get in 6 hours of sleep. I’d like to aim for 8 hours ideally. 

Happiness was meant to be like the overarching theme throughout the year, however apparently the universe was thinking it would be more of a June thing. That’s fine, I like June. Not much to explain with this one, I would like to be happy more frequently and for longer periods of time. I think most people would hope for the same. 

As someone with severe ADHD, order and organization don’t really come to me naturally. Or at all. I set things down anywhere and everywhere, I walk away from projects without finishing them, and I avoid the tasks that don’t give me enough dopamine. I grew up googling how to guides on cleaning my room and organizing my closet. They never stuck, I never had a complete system to follow. These things have finally become more tolerable tasks for me to achieve, but the large scale of organizing a whole house is still daunting and somewhat overwhelming. On top of that, with the start of the 2023 school year next fall, I will need to find a roommate if I want to be able to afford rent while going to college full time. That means a suitable living environment that is organized enough for two people to not overlap or be overwhelmed. 

Financial abundance, much like happiness, is something that most people hope for. Not excessive wealth, but some form of disposable income that allows a person to build the safety net that is a savings account. The type of financial wiggle room that lets an anxious mind buy their favorite drink at the grocery store or get a cute piece of accent furniture for their living room. It’s being able to indulge occasionally while also knowing there’s money in savings for any major things that may come up like a needing to replace a vehicle or pay for a medical emergency. Technically, I am at the point where if my car were to breakdown I could replace it at the cost of my entire savings account. I want more security then that. 

It was somewhat perfect that academic success landed on the first month of the semester.

#nye2022 #new year resolutions

[life-is-hard-2002]

1/1/23

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions. We all know change doesn’t start just because the next year of our life has. However, I would like this year to be different. Very different. I would like to keep some of the forced independence I learned in 2022. Moving across the country thinking you’ll be with your best friend of nearly a decade only to have what was one of the most monumental friendships you’ve had end less than a month after you arrived. Not a good time. Neither was the black mold, critter infested duplex I moved into. Oh and becoming so mentally ill I couldn’t maintain a single friendship. Aaaaannnnddd of course having my boundaries violated by the first man I ever loved and spiraling even more. Ending 2021 with COVID in the psych ward after an attempt did not set me up for a successful 2022. My logic is that a year of damn near total isolation to protect my peace will? It has to be better than where I was 365 days ago. It’s a mindset that keeps me going.

Here are my 13 hopes, wants, goals and wishes for 2023. In no particular order: happiness, reducing clutter, order and organization, commitment, meaningful relationships, financial abundance, vulnerability- exposing myself to the possibility of pain and rejection, healthier eating, academic success, consistent sleep schedule, stability- structure and routine, a healthy hobby, and working out. I know what you’re thinking, very basic and vague. What you don’t see is the terrible resolutions I have had in years past. My wish to leave an abusive relationship, my goals to finally be able to eat a normal portion size, my want to stop feeling like I needed to self harm, my hope to feel like I don’t need to change to be loved. For the first time, I’m in a place where my goals really can be as simple as working on going to bed on time and having more nutritionally balance meals.

My list is also vague because I’m trying to trust that the universe will deliver what I desire. Now, this doesn’t mean I don’t put in the work. I’ve picked a piece of paper with each of my wants on it everyday since Christmas, each day correlates with a month and for the 13th one I spend the entire year ensuring it happens. I read about it somewhere then forgot how to actually do it, but I remember that you burn them each day. Here’s the order of what I have pulled so far: January- reducing clutter, February- meaningful relationships, March- healthy hobby, April- working out, May- consistent sleep schedule, June- happiness, July- order and organization, August- financial abundance, September- academic success. That only leaves October, November, and December. I’m not looking forward to the vulnerability or commitment ones… And yes, I realize how stupidly open ended they are all, especially ‘happiness’. You try writing out 13 things you want in the next year that don’t directly involve others, it’s harder then it seems. There’s also more specifics to each one. 

#nye2022 #new year #new year resolutions #mental heath support

[life-is-hard-2002]

My Public Diary

It's the start of a new year, and after spending damn near all of 2022 alone (by choice), it seems I need a way to express myself healthily again. So here is my newest way of journaling, my own page to document who I am, my experience, and all my hard to follow ADHD rants. Disclaimer to all the people who will never read this, my grammar is not immaculate.

#adhd #blog post #mental health #season: 2022 2023