If you keep up with my blog, you know that I’ve really struggled this week. However, I haven’t shared much detail about what I’ve been struggling with.
Earlier this week, I had lunch with my biological dad. I don’t see him ofter. Actually, I’ve seen him twice in the last six months, and that’s a huge improvement. We normally only ever see each other once every couple of years. He is a drug addict and alcoholic. So even though he only lives about 40 minutes from me, we rarely speak. I agreed to get lunch with him this past week because he agreed to give me money – something I desperately needed since my husband was recently fired. You need to know that there is very little that I won’t do for money….so putting myself in this uncomfortable situation of having lunch with my dad to get money really didn’t seem that bad compared to other things I’ve done. He gave me $100 and bought my lunch. He also offered to give me a brand new pack of cigarettes, but I declined – I haven’t been smoking since August 8, 2016.
During lunch, my dad started talking about one of the crazy women he dated when I was in middle/high school. Then he talked about her crazy daughter. And then he mentioned that all of the women he dated had crazy kids. I asked what he meant by that. The boy who sexually abused me for my entire childhood was his long-term girlfriend’s son. He proceeded to tell me how that boy, my abuser, had all sorts of anger issues and got expelled from school when we were kids after getting violent in a classroom. I think my heart literally stopped when he said that. The things that he did to me were violent. I didn’t think so for a long time – I just thought that they were normal….I thought everyone’s abuse was like mine. I cringed this week when my marriage counselor used the word “sadistic” to refer to the abuse that I endured because I like to not think about it that way – it’s easier to remember it not being that bad. The hard part about hearing that your dad knew that this kid had “issues” is accepting that your dad still thought it was ok to be left alone with him for hours at a time; your dad still thought it was ok for you to share a bedroom with him. My therapist would like me to not go too deep with this and just take it for what it is. But I can’t do that. I can’t do that because the idea that any parent would leave their daughter alone with a boy who was a couple years older who had known issues with anger and aggression is sickening. And then accepting that you are the little girl that happened to….it’s impossible to cope with. It’s devastating. It makes you feel like you were not worth protecting….like no one cared about what happened to you.
So that ^ was my day on Tuesday. I had every intention of working on this at length in my therapy session yesterday (Friday), but then that didn’t happen because my husband is an asshole.
On Thursday, I went to marriage counseling. My husband was actually early, which was a nice change. And I walked in thinking things are fine. There was a small issue on Sunday, but other than that, even though he’s unemployed, things are ok. No issues. I was wrong.
Marriage counseling was horrible. Worst therapy session I think I’ve ever had, with the exception of the time my hometown shrink thought it would be a good idea if she brought my mom into one of my sessions so we could work on boundaries. The session really started going downhill when my husband declared that if he got the job he applied for, he would not be getting a second job to help make up the difference in income that we need him to make (he would be making about $200 a week less than what we need him to make if he got that job). This was different than what we had previously discussed – a few days prior he had said that he would wait tables at night on the weekends to make up the difference.
I think my marriage counselor got agitated with me because I basically shut down. Because shutting down is easier than arguing in front of your marriage counselor. And, every time I tried to talk, my husband would cut me off. She kept saying things like “I feel like you’ve checked out;” or “I feel like you aren’t present.” Well no, I’m not fucking present because basically I thought everything was going to work out ok, but now my husband is telling me that he isn’t going to get a second job to bring in enough money. So no – I’m pissed…I don’t want to talk to either of you.
Unfortunately, it gets worse. Yes, you read that right – it got worse.
The next thing my husband proceeds to tell me during marriage counseling is that, even though he’s currently unemployed and we can’t even come close to paying the bills that we have, he has agreed to repay a debt from the fucking restaurant that he opened behind my back. He agreed to pay back this debt at a $350 a month payment! Again – if he gets the job he applied for, he still isn’t making enough to pay his share of the bills. How the fuck does he think he’s going to come up with an extra $350 a month? Oh and on top of that, he really needs to file for bankruptcy because of all of the outstanding debt he has from closing his restaurant….but he doesn’t have the $3500 to do that…..and he isn’t making enough money to save up to make that happen.
I walked out of therapy. I’ve thought about walking out of therapy a number of times, particularly during trauma work, but I’ve never actually done it…until now.
I walked out because I couldn’t regulate myself in my marriage counselor’s office anymore. I couldn’t find my five senses. I couldn’t concentrate with my husband running his mouth and my marriage shrink asking me if I had checked out or where I was or what was happening for me. Shut the fuck up! I couldn’t take it anymore. I was gone for a long time. 10 or 15 minutes I think. I sat outside in the sunshine, trying to catch my breath, trying to find my five senses, and trying not to hurt myself. All I wanted to do was die.
Eventually, I went back in. My husband left so I could talk to my marriage counselor individually. She told me how concerned she was about me….over and over. I wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter – her being concerned didn’t change how shitty my life is or how I think the only way to make the shit stop is to kill myself. I didn’t tell her that cutting should be the least of her concerns. I know that cutting isn’t going to fix it….because my life is going to stay shitty forever….so the only way to fix it is indeed to kill myself. There is no other solution.
All of the above went through my head during the 15 or so minutes that my marriage counselor tried to talk to me.
Today is Saturday. I am still really anxious. Yesterday was a little better – two yoga classes and individual therapy with my shrink. But today, I woke up anxious and the anxiety has stayed at a 10 pretty much all day. I don’t know how to make the anxiety go away. I don’t know how to only think about today and to trust that the rest will work out. I don’t know how to feel better about the events of this week. I feel like I am failing at keeping my anxiety under control – at keeping myself calm and rational. I am not quite as suicidal as I was on Thursday. However, I know from experience that I will not be able to sit with these high anxiety numbers for a great length of time.
I’m hoping things improve soon. I’m hoping my husband gets a job…a real job. He’s been helping out a friend doing construction these past two weeks. He hasn’t really been getting paid though, which is very concerning. He’s basically working for free. The guy keeps saying he’s going to pay him, but he doesn’t. Of course my husband thinks the whole world is good and that he will eventually get paid. In the mean time, I can’t even buy groceries…let alone pay the bills or pay for therapy. I’m going to have to quit going to therapy eventually…. I won’t be able to afford it anymore. I’m trying to hold out for as long as I can, but I do think that therapy, like all other good things in my life, will soon come to an end. Until then though, I go on Monday…and clearly I fucking need it.