Say You're Sorry, OK?

 Anyone who has known me since I was small knows I had the temperament of a bear with a thorn in it's paw. A ball of fire both angry, wild and stubborn. I have done a lot of work on myself over the years, after certain events in my life revealed to me that I needed to change to better myself internally. The internal anger was released over time and I was a much better person for it. The way I approached things were simple; if I was going to get that mad at someone, they probably weren't worth that much energy. Have you ever hated someone? It takes so much energy to hate someone, so much emotion, so many thoughts. For someone that you just can not stand. If I'm feeling that way about anyone, then they aren't worth my time. When they aren't worth my time, they aren't worth that effort and then soon I let it all go. I don't bottle it up - I seriously just let it go until they are nothing to me. Anger can be reserved for things I care about, that matter. Learning how to manage my anger with people gave me the ability to let go of situations and things too. Until now I was no longer angry.

It helped out because I was not saying things out of anger anymore. Things I would regret. Things that would get me in trouble. Things that would hurt people that I cared about. One or two slip ups are bound to happen. The problem with words is that you can't ever take them back. YOU might forget what you said, or how you said something, but the person who received them takes them away with them and is changed - even when they say they aren't. You can't reverse time. You can't take words back. I can't change things I said.

Before I go on, let me lay down a little history. This post is ultimately about my sister. A small vent to figure out how I am feeling. So it's messy and confusing, and maybe a little cold. I'm not coming from the healthiest place right now and I can not seem to focus.

My sister, Dani, and myself have a rocky history filled with anger, resentment and jealousy. Most of it came from her, but I take my blame too. We just clashed, she hated me and I responded often incorrectly to defend myself and how I felt. Often, I felt like she was an intruder. We tried often to repair an awkward relationship but it often ended up bad. We just did not mesh well, and I'm not afraid to say that. Most of my life I just wanted her to like me, to love me. I wanted to do things with her that people get to do with their older sisters. We just didn't have that relationship. She had too many demons of her own. But that didn't mean I didn't love her.

After a few years of not talking to her, we finally began to talk after my third child was born. In fact, she called me the day he was born. I had been confused. We had had a horrible falling out. But at the urging of my older brother and the passing of my phone number to her, she called me to repair a relationship. She had changed, she said. She was no longer lost in the world of alcohol and prescription pills. I wasn't stupid, but I was hopeful that it was real. We remained strained but communicative. I always felt like she had ulterior motive, especially after my mother got sick and she all of a sudden wanted back in good with everyone. She had done a lot of damage a few years prior, and anyone that knows me knows how passionately defensive I am over my parents. It didn't matter that we shared DNA, she had hurt someone who did nothing but love unconditionally, raise us well and would bend over backwards to give us their last penny. I hated her for what she had done, and even though I wanted a good relationship, I had seen too many times when she claimed she changed and every time it would end up the same.

After my mother passed, I became isolated from everyone. I'll admit that. I was hurting deep inside, and I didn't want anyone close to me anymore. But I had seen my sister, and the effort she made to be clean. She was trying at least, and at my mothers memorial, we both watched from a distance in mourning as one of our brothers was progressively deteriorating in front of our eyes. He was so high on pills that he was bent at a permanent 90 degree angle the entire time we were gathered, drooling on himself and slurring. Driving under the influence. I regained some respect for her then, because I thought she saw what a loser he was for what he was doing. She even agreed he belonged in jail when he went. My sister was real now.

But that was a lie. Unfortunately. A pathological liar, Dani was struggling with issues of her own. I understand now, and maybe too late, that most of her lying came from the knowledge that if people knew the truth about her and her life, that they wouldn't accept her. This entire time, all she wanted was to be accepted and people would be proud of the progression she claimed she was making. She wasn't without issues, I'm not saying that.

She was mentally ill, to top it all off. It was impossible to really depict what was real and what wasn't, as she was a hypochondriac on top of real issues. So most of the time, I rolled my eyes at her claims. Never aware how addicted she too was becoming to pills and alcohol. She fell off her trail, made some mistakes and wanted to fix them with her family. Admirable.

But last week her lying took a turn for the worse. She was making claims that are still only allegations with no solid proof. Getting a brother, my dad and my husband involved.

I was in the desert, serving a deployment with the Army. Thousands of miles away. I checked my bank account, eager to make a purchase for some things I needed and assuming I knew what I should have available. My heart sank when I saw my account empty. Infuriated, I messaged my husband with the most painfully calm text I could fathom. It was simple, and I wanted the truth. Where was my money? Had he gone on an impulsive spending spree? Finally, he told me.

He began with a pleading for me not to be mad at him. Exactly what every woman wants to hear. What could he be saying? I didn't expect it. He told me my brother had called my dad and my dad had called him for help. My sister, who was living 6 hours away from us (therefore we were the closest), had made accusations that she was being beaten, forced to live in a backyard shack and was going to kill herself because her husband was egging her on to do it. My brother wanted to make a plan to get her out, my dad just wanted to protect his baby girl. I had been a victim of severe abuse, and my dad was just doing what he thought was right. So he begged my husband to go get her. My husband obeyed, because my family is his family too. He saw what I went through and he too wanted to protect her.

When he picked her up he made several different observations. One, she didn't look abused. No one fought for her to stay, and she claimed she didn't actually live in that shack. Anyway, the story goes on. Kevin had been duped, lied to. So had my brother and my dad. And in a period of two days, our money was gone to save her, and she had told three different stories - all lies. Infuriated that she had tricked us, and abandoned her kids with an "abuser", I called her. I called her and let my anger unleash on her. I had talked to my dad who cried on the phone, he was humiliated that she had lied to him, that my husband had sacrificed our money, and that they were all fooled. My brother had already ripped into her. Kevin was on the edge with her. But I, filled with rage, gave it to her the worst. I had bit my tongue until she told me a lie, and I caught her and she tried to fix it. I told her she was going to leave my house. She was high on her pills and drinking. She was not allowed in my house with my children and my family. She was never to contact my father or my brother ever again for help, because the boy cried wolf too many times now. She was nothing but a liar. I used choice words, and cursed her out of my life. Finally, I said words that weigh on me.

"Dani. I want you to listen and listen good." I told her via speaker phone that my husband held while following her around my house (because she kept hanging up on me and in that heated moment I was childish enough to demand to be heard). "I'm not even mad anymore. You know why? Because you aren't worth my anger or my hate. You are nothing to me. You aren't my sister."

"Sommer stop - you don't get to-" she started. I stopped her.

"No, no. Listen. You are not my sister. I have two sisters - neither of which are you. You are dead to me. You hear me, Dani?  I don't have a place for you in my life right now. If you were on fire, and I had a glass of water, I'd drink that bitch. You will leave my house. You will leave my life. Bye."

The truth is, I wanted her to cry. I wanted to hear her pain and I wanted her to cry. Think of me what you will. I'm not going to lie to make myself look good. I wanted to hurt her because she was hurting my family. I am leaving out a LOT of detail to protect some others. But it had come to this. Ultimately, it ended like this. I hung up and immediately felt like a piece of shit. I expressed it to my co-worker. But I couldn't call back. How could I? I had to stand firm. Be stubborn. Always stubborn. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to give her a chance and let her know I didn't mean those things. Not really. In the midst of all of this, I had been confused. Confusion lead to a higher level of anger. When I hung up, I wasn't as mad anymore. I thought about calling back.

But I didn't. And I would never get that chance.

A few days later, my sisters husband began to text Kevin with messages expressing his displeasure of our family behavior. At first, he brushed it off. But I knew Dani. This was the same girl that pulled stunts specifically intended to hurt people - and loved a good lie. I remember on Christmas eve she tried to have my mother arrested for stealing a bed set that Dani had left in our house. We didn't even know she wanted it. I warned Kevin to call Jared back. Mostly because, Dani could lie and we deserved to be able to tell the truth. Once that was smoothed over, I contacted Jared too. I told him I just wanted the truth - I wanted his side. Dani had isolated Jared from us years ago, and I never really got the chance to know him beyond what she told us about him - that he was a drunk. By then, Dani had left him and her kids again. She had left with a convict who is known for his dealings in Meth. A sick man, older fat and balding, this guy was more than just some meth dealer and crack head, he was a real abuser of children, sexual and physical. He went to jail for it and Dani had sworn him off, Somehow, I wasn't shocked to learn that she hopped in the guy's car for a joyride.

"I don't even know if she's dead or alive. I haven't heard from her in days." Jared expressed. His voice was sober, but it was exhausted and sad. I could hear the anger and betrayal in his voice but it only masked the confusion I heard in tones. He didn't claim to be some saint. I felt sorry for him. I made him promise to stay in contact with me, and explained that while I was a total asshole on the phone to Dani, that in the end, I just couldn't worry about what kind of stunts she was pulling. He agreed with me, and we hung up. I felt better. A little.

I didn't let Dani's whereabouts bother me the rest of the day.

Then I got a text from my brother asking me to call him. Text is such a weird thing. It ignites arguments when you can't find the context in which something is said. You read them how you hear them. But every now and then you get that text that is undeniably something that will change your life. Cynically, I rolled my eyes and muttered that I needed to call my brother. He picked up the phone and explained to me slowly that Dani was in a car accident. The details were jumbled, and I only heard the blood in my ears rushing. Something about Oklahoma. A coma. Burns. Critical.

 Carefully my emotions slammed shut. I stopped hearing the blood in my ears, and focused very carefully on how I was speaking.

"Oh." Is all I remember saying. I know what I said was short, and casual. I felt angry and conflicted. I rambled to my friend what had happened and shook it off. There was a whole day ahead of me, and I wasn't about to cry. I wasn't about to let anyone see my concern. On the inside I was torn. Would she be alright? Of course she would be. I barely had a doubt in my head that she was going to wake up. When she did, I would cuss her out more. I knew she was under some influence of drug or alcohol, and what was worse I knew that skeeze she was with was too. I had more plans to chew her out again. But this time it wouldn't be from hate, it would be more out of love and relieve that she was alright.

Burns. Burns. Burns.

That knowledge bothered me. I pressed on with my day, carefully normal. Waiting for someone to tell me she woke up. My brother text me.

"OMG Sommer call me."  I sucked in a sigh. I don't remember what I felt or what I thought. He picked up the phone and the news broke. Dani was dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead?

What? No. No. No. No. No. No. That's all my brain said. My mouth however chose a much more colorful route.

"What?  You shut the fuck up. You. Shut the fuck. Up." I cursed. Out of the corner of my eye I watched two soldiers - who I had forgotten entirely about - leap up and leave my office. I tried to stop them, but my mouth was too busy cussing out my brother, who cried when I cried.

Get it together. Stop it. Stop it. 

I sobbed, out loud and uncontrolled like some idiot. I might as well, I was alone in my office. Still I tried to gather it up. I told him I had to go. I had to get off the phone. I hung up and sobbed harder. I didn't have a single thought in my head at that point. I was lost and trying to stop. Stop myself from crying. Stop the feelings.  Right as I was roping up my sobs, someone came in. I lost it all over again. This time out of embarrassment. Or at least, that's how I thought it was.

The next few hours are a blur. I kept getting different information and details. All with the end result. Dani was dead. I didn't want to tell anyone. I kept a fake smile plastered on my face, forced laughs and internally raged when someone mentioned they were having a bad day. Fortunately, I was so emotionally broken down that my anger was a quiet match covered up by the usual thick sarcastic remarks that I tend to spout off.

Those who knew were careful with me but at the same time, I think, caught on that I had no intention of dropping over and being useless. They joked with me and made me feel better. But information kept coming in. An article I was given is what made me emotionally slam into a brick wall.

Dani hadn't died in a coma. She died on the scene, according to the report. She had burned to death.

I felt sick, I wanted to throw up. Dizzy, I re-read the information. Burned to death.

My angry words were echoing in my head so loudly that I couldn't hear anyone else. I couldn't read any reports or speak. I wanted to tell my NCOIC, I wanted to talk about it. I even thought about going to the chaplain. But, I was unable to. Sometimes I get a little emotionally retarded and I have no idea how to talk about my feelings. Most of the time, it's because I have absolutely no idea how I am feeling. I would much rather hear about someone else's feelings. But now it was a guilt. A heavy burden and the echo of  the knowledge that I was going to Hell.

My sister burned to death - and just a few days prior to that, I had told her if she were on fire...

If she were on fire.

...burned to death....

Oh my god.




I guess, in order to wrap this whole thing up, is that, my anger really took hold of me. I said some things that were seriously messed up. And I thought there would be time to mend and repair - as between Dani and I, our past was always conflicted but we always mended and apologized later. I assumed that I would have time to call back later and apologize. Or if not apologize, move forward as always.

But I was wrong. I know that I didn't cause my sisters death. In a lot of ways I'm angry at her for it. She did the drugs. She got in the car with someone who was also high. I wish time and time again that he died, but he got to live. He got released the same day he was taken in. Some criminal, some sick predator gets his life. And my sister is dead. My niece and nephew have no mother now. I can't ever tell her I didn't mean that shit I said.

For so long I have been able to let my anger go. I let it get the best of me, and while I looked back on it I never turned around. My result is guilt and anger. What if I never kicked her out? What if I let her stay a little while longer? What if. What if. What if.

I can't change what I did do, and what I didn't do. I can only move forward. I am sorry, so eternally. But now I know. In the future...

Just say you're sorry.

A little stressed...

I knew I wanted to write a blog today. I had a totally different post in mind, something that has been bothering me. But then, my day progressed. It's a long twisted story of how it got this far, and there are a lot of details I am leaving out. At the moment though, I have absolutely no one to vent to. Not a single person. If I don't get some kind of griping out, I am going to lose my mind. And believe me, now is not the time to do so.

In five days and a wake up, I'm leaving for the next 6 months. Where I'm going is a place I will relinquish all control over everything that I've had control or monitoring ability over for the last seven years. Seven years may not seem like a very long time to be doing something, but when it's all you've been doing and it's become your entire life, it's actually a pretty big thing. So, I'm stressed. Here's some honesty - I don't trust him as far as I can throw him when it comes to financial things. After today, I trust him without one or two things, and that has become doubtful. He sees money, he gets impulsive and vindictive. Doesn't he deserve to spend that money? He'll replace it ASAP, no one will know....who cares if bills aren't paid? I don't want a financially structured future. I haven't strived to do it yet.  While that sounds harsh, I remember days when he had control and every 1st and 15th of the month we were 500 dollars in the HOLE. No food, no extras. Nothing. He did it through lying, hiding, and borrowing without my knowledge. When I took control it took time to get our heads above water. Yet he insisted to continue to make it worse on him. He lied and hid so much, and when I found out, he'd lie MORE. Because, I'm stupid, right? Right? Money isn't everything, and I've been guilt tripped into believing I'm materialistic. Sorry, but, I've got three kids to feed.

I've been trying so hard to give him benefit of the doubt. I put him on my personal account that I use specifically as a bill account to put the money for bills into so they get paid. Unfortunately I had to use this account as my account for the income I am about to start making while I am away, and bills still need to be paid. Which means, he has access to my money too. I know what that sounds like. I'm sounding selfish, and cruel. My money? We've been living off of his. It should be OUR money. The entire reason I took this job was because we are so in debt that I haven't eaten in weeks more than one meal a day. My kids eat, he eats. But there's never enough for me. I joke, hey, I'm on a diet. Well, sad part is about starving yourself is the notion you lose weight. Your body actually clings on to whatever fatty substance you eat and makes it into fat, thus giving someone the swollen belly effect. So, I'm strangely looking fatter. Great. That's what every woman wants.

Tonight we were cornered by our family friends. There had been some tension that no one could explain. They immediately took to pointing fingers on what was wrong with us. I got some of it, took it in and agreed and acknowledged. But then I was hit with bricks. They said he puts them in positions that make them uncomfortable because he tells his buddy not to tell me, and his buddy tells his wife, whom I am very close friends with, who feels put in the middle because she has to lie to me too. WHY is anyone LYING to me?!  Why is he lying? About stupid shit, like where he goes or what he spends? I can see what he spends and he still lies to me. I'm hurt. I'm scared. Who do we owe that I don't know about? What else has he lied to my face about? I had expressed some paranoid I had about our friends, and why they weren't around us anymore. To him. Only to him. Once. Somehow, they know all about it, and I become the target for not talking about it. I know he told them, but I didn't understand why. Why did he do that? It was once, a long time ago, and it was a paranoia of me reading too much into something. And there he was, blantantly lying to me about it too.

Am I wrong? Should I trust that he won't blow every.single.dime the way he has in the past? He's already told me about what he plans to buy -- I remind him, to wait. I want to use this money to get us out of debt. I want to own a home, and have good credit and not feel like I can't trust him. But that's how I feel -- he's a liar. He's dishonest and lying to me and he will never stop. He's been lying for 8 years. He lied to me the day we met. What do I do? I just wish my mother was here. She always knew the answer, without judgement. I can't get that anymore. I'm alone in this pit. If I tell people, they judge him. They judge me for staying. Or tell him. It's not some secret how I feel about this - we've discussed it over and over again... but it's been one circle. I'm so torn... I'm just...

I quit for now. I leave soon. I have too much to worry about.

Beyond His Years.

Back to a regular flow of blogging now that the class is over. Insightful, it was. Now I'm a graduate from the school, and wondering what to do next in my life. But that's beside the point.

Here's why I am writing today. I was going to post it on my Facebook, kind of reach out to the other parents that inhabit my friends list, but the very last post I made about the topic started a wildfire. It was gruesome, abusive, and people who didn't know other people were nearly ripping each other apart which made me delete the post and rethink posting what I was near to posting today. But my blog is safe.

Yesterday I took my son to the doctor. In the waiting commons there are numerous TV's, all flashing across the screen with the news of the aftermath of Boston. I had not discussed it with my son, who is 8 - not because I didn't want to, but because we finished out the day before as busy as we are everyday. Bud, my son, is much more wise than I give him credit for, and as the flashes of gore on the screen were exposed to him, he watched and to my dismay read the headline news. His awe was striking, he furrowed his barely-there brows and frowned, I caught the look he gave and knew the question was happening.

"Boston - it's kind of like New York, right? It's a big city with a lot of people there, isn't it?" I nodded to him, and distracted myself away from the conversation with a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with my 6 year old daughter.

"Those aren't fireworks, are they? The words say they're bombs." I nodded, and quietly agreed and told him, yes, they were bombs. His silence and drifting eyes allowed me to believe all he needed to know was answered. But as I shot a second look, he was intently staring at the TV, his hands clutched the wood armrests of the pleather waiting-room chair,  and he shook his head. I followed his gaze back to the TV, and wondered then if we sat someplace else he would be blind to the image and text. However, the TV's are in a row, no matter where we sit, we're faced staring at the image of Martin, 8, holding a sign that declares no more hurting people, just peace. One of the casualties of the bombing.  I followed the screen to my sons face, who stared at it with tears in his eyes.

"Mommy, is that boy dead?" I told him yes, and felt the eyes of the group around me shift and stare. Why did I feel like I was telling him something top secret? "It says he has a sister and she's 6, like Bean? But she lost her leg and his mommy is wounded?" He looked at Bean, who was now looking up at the TV, but not with the same coherence as her brother. I sunk a little in my chair, as he read off how many were deceased, how many were injured, and the fact that he couldn't get through his head what had happened.

"He's my age. That's how old I am. He had a sign that said peace. He didn't like people hurting people, so why did he die?" He curled his face up, an expression that resembles his dads, and yet so innocent that it curled my insides. I felt the heavy eyes of people around me and sighed, I shrugged and told him the truth, "I don't know. I don't know why people did that, Bud." He turned back to the TV, still thinking about it. Understanding without understanding it. I pointed out all the people that ran to help, trying to balance his sudden knowledge of evil in the world, by revealing all the good. All the people that dropped everything to save people.  But he still seemed jilted, saying, "It's so scary."

Was it wrong of me to tell my son the truth? How could I lie to him when he's reading the words right off of the TV and asking me honest questions? I'm not ready for him to be this smart. I'm not ready to expose him to a world far worse than videogame and movie villians.

To be a child.

She ran at a pace that was above a jog, but below the pace that was any real attempt to get away. The perfect kind of pace that matched a childish chase. Her head turned and she gazed behind her, her summer-sky blue eyes filled with delight and not losing sight of her chaser even as her white-blonde hair cascaded in her view. Behind her, he chased her at a pace that never intended to catch up on purpose. His strawberry blonde hair seemed red in the autumn sun, and glittered almost gold at the small wind that would pick pieces of it from his head. His mud-brown eyes pinned on the blue eyed girl, and his pink lips were spread in an open-mouthed smile with a laughter that harmonized with her bell-pitched laugh. I watched them give chase to one another from my spot, and admired them for a moment. The girl couldn't have been more than three, matching the boys age. Even in their youth, their chase gave way for the imagination of young love. On purpose, she fell and rolled dramatically across the grass still laughing. Aside her he fell and rolled too until they both lay on their backs and gazed up at the rare clear-blue sky. He pointed into the air and talked quietly to her, and her hands raised to her mouth to stifle the giggle at whatever he said. Breathless, they laid in the grass and tucked themselves away in their own little world, unbothered by the flurry of business around them. I admired that.

I Feel Stupid Writing This...

     Somedays I want to pick up the phone and just talk to you about what's on my mind, and listen in on what is on yours. When I was little and I was having a bad day, I used to crawl into your lap, lay my head on your chest and listen to your heart beat and the way your voice echoed. It always soothed me. You were the only one that could smother the flames of my anger. I learned late that you were right about so much, and when I figured that out, I leaned on you for advice for everything.
        I hate that that was all stolen from me. I feel like you were stolen from me, and that it is so incredibly unfair. I feel so alone now more than ever. I know I have people to talk to, but at the same time I feel like I have no one. No one that is going to understand me, accept me, and yet tell me to shape up at the same time. No one to give me direction. I just want to hear your voice, see your face. I want this to be a dream, and more than ever, I want it to be over.
         I wonder if you gave up because of me. I didn't get to say good bye. My last conversation with you, I was annoyed and hurt because I felt like you were taking your anger out on me. I didn't understand like I should what it was that made you speak that way. You looked forward to the kids this summer. They didn't even get one last summer with you. I feel like after I told you I wasn't coming to Oregon, and that he had summer school, that you gave up. I am angry about that, mama. I am angry at myself, I'm angry at you. More than anything, I hate that I am angry. I feel selfish and stupid for it but I can't get over it no matter how hard I try. Now I wonder about everything, if you're watching me now, if you're judging me, if you love me still even with the things I've done? Are you proud of me? Are you still trying to give me direction, or are you just gone?
          Mama, who will love me now? Who will love me like you did? Why did it have to be you? I really feel like I should wake up and get some kind of phone call from you, or see that you've played a Facebook game, or that you're at Bingo. I hate that dad as to go through this alone, and at the same time I am too afraid to really dive into his life. I don't know how he deals with staying in that house, filled with memories that aren't all good. I can't bring myself to go to church, I can't bring myself to do anything and I know how angry you would be over that.
          There are times when I feel like calling you to have a question answered. But I can't. I am totally torn on what to do with things, and I can't call you to have you help me sort them out. I feel so screwed up, mama. I feel selfish and ashamed and alone.

Still Waiting.

Sometimes, when I have too much time to think, I sit back and look at what I do day to day. What did I do before now? What will I do after now? I feel like it has been all one giant waiting game. That is what I do now, with my life. I wait. I wait for "next Monday" for a new show, I wait for the weekend in order to spend time with my family as a whole instead of some broken up missed connection. I wait for 1530 to roll around each week day to pick my son up from school. I wait. It is what I do every day of my life, is wait. I feel like all I have been doing is just waiting, my entire life. I'm waiting it away, not wasting it away. Although at this point, it kind of feels like the same thing. What did I do before that allowed me to avoid this feeling? Working jobs, I still waited. I waited for lunch breaks. I waited for the end of the day. I counted down hours. For what? Bedtime? Is that what I wait for every day, is bed? When I wake up in the morning, is that what I anticipate? Sleep? Wow. Here I was in a panic trying to figure out who I am, and instead of facing that, I went into some deep thought about what I do everyday.

 I should know that by now, you know? Who I am. What I want in life. I can't answer those questions. It was proven to me just Tuesday of last week. I went to some group thing, to meet people, to give my daughter the chance to make friends. To give myself something else to wait for. When I was passed a questionnaire that had the most basic questions on it, I froze. I knew how to answer basics. My name. My age. How long I've lived here. The kind of stuff that comes without too much thought. But then, I looked at the rest of the questions. Things like, "What do you like to do for fun?" The simple question brought me into this world of thought that made me stare at it like some simple minded fool. It was a question that stared at me, as if answering it meant going to Heaven or Hell. I felt like I had a trap door under me, and all of a sudden, I was doing some kind of deep soul searching while the others around me chatted. When my attention was caught by a question asked, I stuttered as if I had never talked in front of a group before in my life. All I could think was, Me? Shy? I've never been shy in my entire life! Yet there I was, with a blazing red face trying to think of an answer to a question I didn't honestly hear. In my head, I was still trying to answer the question on paper.

I wanted to cry, and I almost did. The only thing that stopped me was my insides completely lashing out at me going, "You cry and I swear we will never leave the house ever again." But I couldn't stop thinking about it. What do I like to do for fun? What are some of my hobbies? WHY CAN'T I ANSWER THAT?! Simple. I thought, what do I do everyday? Oh, then that thought came up, I don't enjoy what I do everyday. In fact, I almost kind of hate it. In fact, I really despise it. That only brought on this strange inner shame, shocked at this secret profession I had made to myself, even though it is a thought that occurs daily and that I admit, I often say out loud. Saying it to myself in my head, seemed like the most shameful thing ever. How could I think like that? I have it easy. Real easy. Ok, well, that is what everyone thinks. Honestly, I hate it. It isn't me, at all. At least, I don't think. It's just who I have been, who I've allowed myself to be. In reality, if I think about it, it isn't anything that I would want to do.

Alright! Progress, right? If what I do isn't what I want to do, then what do I want to do?

Regression. I don't know. I don't know the answer to that, because beyond knowing my name, my age, and my place of birth, I know absolutely nothing about myself. Nothing! Do you have any idea how scary it is not to know anything about yourself and still manage to hate yourself at the same time? How can you hate something you don't know?

So what do I do? I figure, I'll leave it blank for now, and it'll come to me.

I'll just keep waiting.

The Little Things That Kill You.

Every since we've moved, I have felt so incredibly lonely. I never realized the impact my daughter was facing as well. She broke down at dinner one night, so unexpectedly. I don't know what brought it on even, she just started crying. She told me, she missed certain friends back at our old home. She cried and cried. She has no friends here except her brothers, and her youngest spends most of his time torturing her. Her older brother spends half the time trying to get away from her or finding new ways to make her cry. It sounds terrible, but he's an older brother. I knew I was lonely. At our old home, I had made at least one friend after the first month I was there. Someone who became the best friend I had there at that particular location. After five years, I didn't have a lot of friends, but I had enough friends that I felt alright with, and my kids all had friends that either matched their ages or that they grew up with. At first I shrugged it off as the fact that after five years, a place becomes home. I wasn't home anymore, so I was obviously just home sick. My kids never really experienced that feeling of going someplace they don't know before, except my son. His biggest problem was that his grandparents - two sets of them - weren't around and for the first time in his short life, he was stuck 24/7 with me. Since my last two kids were born at our last home, they didn't know that experience because they never faced it.  Maybe I was too selfishly dwelling in my own loneliness to realize that they suffered too. My oldest goes to school. He has that escape, my youngest is young enough that his sister is enough to play with. After experiencing pre-school and pre-k, my daughter here is at a loss with staying home everyday. Here they don't have those programs available for. I thought it was cute the way she missed school and "homework", and riding the bus. I explained that she would have to wait til next year to go to Kindergarten. She seemed alright with that, minus a few here-and-there reminders of how much she was really missing it. My neighbors have a daughter her age, but since they are leaving soon, they don't want to "get attached". Understandable, but my daughter hurts. So I found this group via Facebook, and someone put out there that there is a church group that happens on Tuesdays. It has Life Classes, plus it has day care. I figured this was a good way for me to meet someone, and it was an even better way for my daughter to get to play with kids her own age, and maybe make a friend or two. Not to mention, it would get me out of the house. I can not begin to express how bad I am getting with not leaving the home. It is at the point that when I get into the car to go to the shoppette, I actually get anxiety, stomach cramps, panic. I am so isolated here, and so alone. So alone. With this, I am becoming quite depressed, and I know it because I'm losing passion for anything I had. I don't work out anymore, school is so hard to focus on that it all feels like it's written in a language I don't understand, and I can't even make myself go to a church.

So when I found this, I told myself that I would make myself go today. I wouldn't back out last minute. That even if it meant stomach ache and minor panic, that I would do it for my daughter. Just so she could meet someone. I set up and messaged the people I'd meet there to help show me around, and have been looking forward all week to this event. I got up this morning, my daughter even got up early and got dressed in an adorable outfit (she too had been looking forward to this, because it meant friends for her). I was in the middle of finishing up getting ready. Everything was a green light until I hear the words, "My ride just backed out on me." Without saying it, I knew he needed the car. Immediately I felt tears in my eyes and calmly put my things down, unplugged my flat iron and told him casually to take the car. My daughter flooded into the room for me to brush my hair and I brushed her hair while it was double confirmed that he would need the car. So patiently, I explained to her that we couldn't go today. She looked at her him and her eyes glittered with tears, made larger by her thick glasses. I felt the familiar sting in my sinuses as I immediately battled my own tears. He told her he was sorry, and told her not to look at him like that. She started to cry, and I held her. She knew then that today wasn't the day she would be meeting new friends, even though she'd been waiting for today as much as I had been. I got her to get out of the room, and told him I understood. It wasn't his fault, and I wasn't mad at him. But even as I told him that, I felt my own tears rising. When he asked if I wasn't mad, then why was I crying? It made the tears fall harder. My body was crying without my permission. It made me feel pitiful.

I knew exactly it wasn't his fault. But everything I have been experiencing lately, stress, depression, it just hit me like a ton of bricks today. The fact that my daughter is experiencing the same thing, kills me. I tried to remind myself by even telling him that the meetings are every Tuesday, I'll go next week. If not next week, the whole month of February he is gone, so I have the car every week. It was no big deal. At the same time though, I know he read the hurt in my eyes, because he was mad. I didn't want to make him feel bad, and I felt like crap letting myself feel like that. I tried to let him go on a good note, offered a smile, but my daughter was still hurt, and although she hugged him, she didn't offer him any comfort in it. She was mad, and sulked for an hour after he left until her brother woke up, through which she decided to go and play. So she's playing, and I'm sitting here doing the exact same thing I do everyday. I feel so broken.