Orphans of Wealth- a powerful message from a fellow blogger

This is a message which needs to be heard, and more importantly, acted upon. I’m sure that 47 years ago, people envisioned the future as one with more promise than the present time offers. 

I encourage you all to read and pass this on. It’s 2017, and the world is in pain. Children are starving, people are dying in senseless wars, and this is unacceptable. The good news is that we outnumber those who profit from the suffering. The time to fix the world is long overdue. It starts with each of us. 

Thank you, Pete, for your words of kindness and compassion. 


depression, family, relationship, Uncategorized

Can’t decide which is worse…

1) Catching your husband check someone out, and him lie about it.

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. 

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!

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depression, Uncategorized

If I could paint my visions

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.


How do we know when we’re enough?

We know when we’ve eaten enough because our bodies have a way of letting us know. What about the immeasurable aspects of life? How do we know when we’re loving enough, kind enough, or strong enough? What is the determining factor? Who gets the ultimate say-so in letting us know that we’re measuring up to immeasurable qualities and assets? 

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m not enough. I’m swamped with big projects and homework, the housework never ends, the kids constantly need something, and then there’s my marriage. I’m overwhelmed with hurt and memories, and it feels like somewhere in that whirlwind of life, there’s just me.

I’ve always been set on being a strong role model for my children. I grew up watching my mom struggle with an eating disorder, and recall looking at myself when she’d say how many pounds she thought she needed to lose. 

If she’s fat, I must be too.

As my feelings and thoughts try to process after finding out about my husband stepping out of the boundaries of our marriage, I find myself feeling increasingly weak, stupid, and insecure. The irrationality of my mindset is growing with all of that. 

If I was this, he wouldn’t want to do that.  

 I broke down in tears to him when I was talking about going to a NASCAR race-something we used to enjoy together. Now they are sponsored by Monster Energy, and the Monster Energy girls are showing off their perfect bodies. I started crying when I told him I’m all fucked up and insecure now. 

He tried rationalizing my thinking by reassuring me that there was nothing I could have done or changed. It had nothing to do with me, but everything to do with him being stupid. 

I know this. Strangely, knowing doesn’t help my feelings. I find myself questioning everything, and at the root of it all is fear. I don’t want to get hurt again, and being the proactive and hypervigilant person I am, I guess I’m trying to find ways within my control to prevent myself from getting hurt. 

That in itself is irrational, because I can’t control what other people do. If I get a Kylie Jenner surgical overhaul and still get cheated on, then what? When will I be enough? 

It pains me even more to feel this way, because I don’t want my daughters to ever question their worth, much less at the expense of the stupidity of their significant other. I feel like such a hypocrite. 

I feel like I’ll never be enough.


“I’m ready to die.” “No, I’m not. “

I don’t think any amount of medication can stop these intrusive thoughts entirely. I can be in a great mood, and have a great day, and still, I can’t count the number of times a quiet voice in my mind says “I’m ready to die.”

What the medication does do is help keep my mood elevated enough so that I don’t allow the intrusive thoughts to manifest into emotions or actions. 

It adds to the feelings of hopelessness to know that I will likely deal with this for the rest of my life. For PTSD, it seems there is no cure, only treatment and management of symptoms. 

I find that both frustrating and interesting because PTSD is a symptom itself. It’s a symptom of traumatic experience(s). I may not be able to beat it, but I won’t let it beat me. My kids need me. I want to see them grow up and there are so many wonders in the world which I have yet to see and experience. 

For people suffering from PTSD, every day we wake up, we are winning. 


Disordered Eating

I eat when I’m hungry. 

For years, this has been my explanation for why I would only eat one meal a day. I have 3 kids, two dogs, and a full-time school workload. To me, it seemed perfectly normal to forget to eat every once in a while (although this happens daily). 

My mom had an eating disorder, so surely I know the signs of that.  I know I don’t need to lose weight, and I don’t think I’m fat, so surely that isn’t the case with me…or is it?

Many are under the impression that eating disorders happen because people want to lose weight. While at the surface, this is true, the underlying cause is usually control. When we feel as though everything around us is out of control, the one thing we  can control is if we eat. 

There have been times where I felt empowered by not eating. I’d be hungry and hurting inside, but not eating would give me a sense of control. I haven’t ever admitted this to anyone, including myself, before. 

I never put much thought into my eating, or lack thereof, until my therapist asked about my eating habits. I told her about how I just don’t feel hungry, and forget to eat until I do. I found it interesting that she referred to my eating habits as “disordered eating”, which is a component of PTSD. I hadn’t heard of that before, and it made me wonder if I did have an eating disorder that turned into disordered eating, or maybe it’s a bit of both. 

I’m never happy with my body. It upsets me when people say I’m too skinny, but then I also get disgusted with myself when I gain weight. It isn’t at the forefront of my mind that often, so I brush it off. Perhaps this is something I need to look into further and fix somehow.


Do I hate my husband?

We’ve been through a roller coaster, as is the case with most relationships. In the beginning, we had our issues. I was insecure, and he didn’t know how to love. We fought-a lot-and were both at fault at different times. We’ve endured and overcome more than I’d like to share.

As time progressed, I overcame my insecurities, and tried to be the best mom and wife I could be. Yet, no matter what, there was always a distance between us, and I was always falling short somehow. Instead of fighting, I was just being hurt. 

This continued for longer than I’d like to admit, but then came the day where the unthinkable happened. I opened up (more like had a nervous breakdown) and told him what his dad did to me when he was deployed. 

I don’t know if he felt bad for treating me so terribly throughout those years while I carried that burden, or what, but he became the husband I saw when we said “I do.” 

He became supportive and started helping me with the kids. He defended me to his family, and for the first time in my life, I felt free. I felt safe and unguarded with him. I was finally married to my best friend. Everything was perfect-until Christmas.

He decided that this fresh start shouldn’t begin on a lie, and decided to come clean about an affair that he didn’t consider to be an affair by only giving the details that he felt were relevant. 

She was a coworker. He didn’t think he cheated on me, but she told him how good looking he was, and then sent him a dirty picture, and he sent one back. The “irrelevant” details I had to pry out of him were that he created a secret email account so they could communicate regularly. He didn’t cheat on me because he didn’t have sex with her. He didn’t cheat on me, because neither of them had any intentions of it going further than flirting. 

Yes, because last time I pulled my head out of my ass, people exchange  nudes with perfectly innocent intentions. 

While he was treating me like shit at home, he was flirting with someone else. I wish he would have told me then and spared me.

I was in the bathroom getting ready when he broke this to me…through text message. We were in different states. I remember feeling like I didn’t know if I was going to pass out or throw up. I was crying so hard. The rug of bliss had been pulled out from under me. 

He called. I wanted her name. I wanted to knock their stupid heads together. At first he said he didn’t remember her name, but then I reminded him that he wasn’t married to a bloody idiot. I messaged her. 

She said that she only continued with the flirting when he told her I knew about it. Even now, this makes me simultaneously laugh and boil. 


So now, I’m trying to work through and process all of this on top of everything else. I’m still angry. The infidelity happened years ago, but I just found out this last Christmas. It is a raw wound that keeps reopening when I’m reminded of how wonderful I thought we were before I found out. 

I don’t trust him. Time will tell, but I don’t want us to waste anymore than we already have. I am so angry and hurt that sometimes it feels like I hate him. I don’t want to hate him. 

I’m just so sick of people hurting me and having the pain minimized. 

“Are we really doing this now?”

“It happened a long time ago.”

“I’m not defending my actions, but it could have been worse…”

I just want to set the world on fire when I hear that shit! 

I want to move forward, and give him a chance without harboring these feelings. I can’t help but wonder if I’m too far gone. 



From the cradle to the grave,

All I’ve known is pain.

Happiness always coming with a price,

Every smiling face with a hidden dagger.

So many walls up,

that now they’re caving in.

Living in this claustrophobic hell,

Trapped in my own mind.

Existing without ever living,

Loving without ever feeling

love’s safe embrace.

Damaged beyond repair,

Hopeless with no one to care.

Everyone for themselves,

I am a dying breed of human.

Compassion is killing me,

Love is a dagger in my own heart.

Every breath, I breathe for others.

I’m lost in the abyss. 

Trapped in the loneliness.

Angry and torn,

Cursing the day I was born.

I’m trapped. 


Walls still closing in, 

Squeezing just enough life

to keep me lingering.

Praying for the day to come,

where I can be set free.


First Day Jitters

Today is my first day of therapy. I drove 30 minutes with the music turned all the way up to drown out my thoughts. I was having a good day, and then my husband came home “joking” about shooting our puppy for making a mess. I told him it wasn’t funny, and he kept saying that he was only joking. 

I said that jokes are supposed to be funny, not painful. He said that it’s funny to him, and I told him that I guess that’s all that matters then. I was then told to just stop.

My therapy appointment went well. I told her a little bit about everything that’s weighing on me, and she gave me a chapter to read on coping with distress. She asked me if I have a “safety plan” for when I get to the dark place again. I told her I will go straight to the emergency room.

She wants the hospital to be my last resort, but with a lack of a safety net, it’s my only resort. The hardest part about discussing my painful experiences goes beyond their trauma. It’s a reminder of the fact that nobody was held accountable for their actions, as well as how alone I truly am. 

Sure, I have a husband and kids, but  I am still alone in my battles. Maybe learning new coping strategies will finally help heal the wounds and allow me to truly move forward in life. 

Only time will tell.


Why it’s good for my kids to see me “undone”

My husband had to work overnight, and when he’s not here, my hypervigilence goes into overdrive. I lose track of time and can’t sleep. By the time I had realized I needed to take my medication, it was too late or else I’d risk not being awakened by the alarm. 

Needless to say, I look like complete shit this morning. My hair is frazzled, and I feel like my complexion tells on me when I don’t get enough sleep. 

When it comes to my beauty regimen, I am an extremist: I either look like shit, or I don’t. When I don’t look like shit, my hair is fixed, and my makeup is done. If I’m going to spend time and energy on doing my makeup, then I don’t cut any corners. I moisturize, prime, contour, highlight, blush, outline, and…well you get the picture.

Today, like many others, my kids see me looking like shit. I look like shit because I feel like shit, and am using what little energy I have to ensure that their needs are met. [It’s called parenting for us non-celeb types]

If they were to constantly see me all fixed up, I would be doing my daughters and future daughter-in-law great disservice. I would be passing on the pressure to reach and expect impossible standards of parenting perfection imposed by society today.

They are too young to make that connection now, but when the right time comes, hopefully they will remember my “undone” days, and be kind to themselves. 

If you are someone with the energy and drive to regularly maintain your appearance and home, do arts and crafts, make all meals from scratch using all organic ingredients, then you have my deepest admiration. Please, don’t get defensive.

I hope you don’t take this post as an attack, but rather a way of telling you that it is more than okay to be human. I hope that throughout your hard work, you are taking time for yourself. We all need that, and it seems like with all of the social media facades out there, we need to hear that as well. 

Whether you’re all fixed up, or completely undone, I raise my cup of overpriced caffienated delicousness to all of you parents out there. Cheers.