1) Catching your husband check someone out, and him lie about it.
http://gph.is/2cPpJs6
2) Catching your husband check someone out, and when you make a comment about that someone, he pretends to be oblivious about whom you’re referring.
http://gph.is/2cWxgrK
Either way, it’s rude and insulting to a person’s intelligence and self esteem. How about if someone is nice enough to give your shady ass another chance, you don’t try to fuck that up and keep your eyes on who you don’t want to lose!
I would see my soul ripping my body in half, trying to escape the pain. I would see the world in the palm of my hand. Like a flower, I’d be picking out the bad buds–the Rockefellers, the Goldman Sachs, and all who profit from war–and toss them into the universe. I envision myself taking all of their money and using it to heal the sick, feed the starving, and bring comfort to those in need. After all, they have enough money to solve world hunger at least ten times over. With the bad buds gone, the world could bloom. Nations could be prosperous without fighting each other. Innocent blood wouldn’t be shed for the sake of resources or money.
What a wonderful world that would be.
Today I did my makeup. I feel like I’m hitting my low point again but I feel it’s easier for the world to cope with a painted face and a fake smile instead of the truth. When my makeup is on nobody asks me if I’m OK and that’s how I want it to be.
I’ve been walking around with this huge lump in my throat and if people could see how I feel inside I would collapse to the floor and break down in tears.
This lump in my throat is so heavy and it’s taking every bit of strength I have not to cry. I can’t do anything about it but let it take its course. I’m not allowed to die because my kids and husband apparently need me. I’m already in therapy I’m already taking medications for depression, anxiety, and chronic pain. I don’t know what else to do. I’m sitting here suffering in silence trying not to mess up my makeup with pointless tears.
Shit. The lump won. The floodgates have opened.
It’s so quiet. Even the dogs are asleep. I hear my husband softly breathing as he’s in dreamland after a long day of work. The kids have had their snacks, drinks, and stories. All questions about the mysteries of the universe are on hold until tomorrow, and then there is me: stuck in this silent battle between my body and mind.
Mind: We should sleep. You have to get up with the kids in the morning and then go to see your psychiatrist.
Body: I will, once the medication kicks in. In the meantime, it’s going to rain soon. Every joint needs to transmit pain signals to set the rain alarm.
Mind: Ouch! My toes, ankles, knees, hope, back, neck, jaw, and….sciata?! Really?!
Body: Don’t forget the wrists…
Mind: Fuck you. I hate my body.
Body: Like you’re any better? You make me feel worse by stressing me out all the time. Starving me, tensing me up…getting scared of strangers in public. Oh! And let’s not forget your procrastination on your huge assignments! It’s your fault I’m messed up.”
Mind: Everything is my fault…time to take a few trips down traumatic memory lane.
Body is tense and hurting, and my heart is racing. My mind is so loud among the silence. I’m afraid that when my medicine kicks in, I will miss the sleep train because I can’t relax.
Mind: Remember the YouTube video your overpaid therapist suggested on Guided Meditation…
I’m too tired to look that shit up right now.
I love when I have the radio on shuffle because I often come across songs that describe the feelings which are often difficult to put into words. Today’s is called “Inner Demons”. I feel that many of us can relate.
posttraumaticsurvival 