Free

What a relief it is to be me. The frames in this picture were a gift last Christmas from my friend Sandra. However I didn't get to use them because he didn't like them. I figured I would just use them in Delilah's room, but now that I don't have to deal with his dumb butt I get to put them up right where I want to. In the livingroom, filled with photos of the kids, the perfect place for me to see them everyday and they bring me such joy.

It's wonderful being so happy without him.

Dear Lila (1) Born

On the third day of January in 2013 I thought for sure you were going to be born.  I felt contractions growing closer and closer, I missed that Friday of work thinking I would surely be giving birth to you.  As you would have it, though, you did not arrive that day, nor the next.  I spent several nights without any sleep as the contractions were keeping me awake, I knew if I went to the doctor they would just send me home, so I continued to wait it out.  On the fifth, a Saturday evening, I thought for sure my contractions were close enough, that the time had come and you would finally arrive.  Nope.  Suddenly the contractions halted.  So I unpacked the hospital bag, "throwing in the towel" so to speak, figuring if I am unprepared for your arrival you will carpe diem and take full advantage of my unpreparedness.  Your brother was having a sleep over at grandma's with uncle Joey and your dad had work early in the morning.  I went to bed, placed some towels under the sheets for just in case and fell asleep.

(Here's where things get a bit graphic, or TMI, tough...don't want to know?...don't read it!)

The next thing I know I'm awoken to a strange feeling, not contractions, just a bit of trickling, and you moving around very slowly.  I realize the sun is shinning through the bedroom window, your father has already gone to work.  I lie there, slowly blinking, trying to really think about what I was feeling, was it all in my head? Was I simply overly eager for your arrival and making things up? I rolled over, slowly and much like I imagine an oaf would, to grab my phone and check the time.  8:40am. I placed my hand on my belly and thought "Wow, you gave me a full night's sleep!"  Then I realized the trickling was continuing. I decided to get up and with each step I took, more was coming out, more of what I wasn't completely sure...I was in disbelief that you could possibly be arriving, I thought for sure I would be tortured with another Monday of work.  I walked to the bathroom, did my usual morning routine, and yes...it had to be my water breaking, slowly but surely, I definitely wasn't peeing my pants.  Now what?  Who should I call first?  I decided to call the nurse hotline, because the last thing I need is to go to the hospital only to be sent home.  The nurse confirmed I should go to the hospital because from the sounds of it my waters had ruptured.  Then I called your Papa.

The game plan was to have Papa drive me to the hospital in the event of your father being at work and I am stuck at home.  So I called him and asked if he is ready to be a grandpa again, told him that my water had broken, that I would be driving over and he could drive me to the hospital.  Because that's how your mother is, headstrong and wanting to do things myself.  Luckily your grandma called me and told me that no way was I driving, and she talked to me as I paced the hallways trying to find everything your dad and I would need at the hospital.  Then Papa arrived.  I'm pretty sure he was a nervous wreck but hiding it very well.  As usual I was calm as could be, just moseying right along, telling your Papa to put various things in the car, deciding whether or not to take his car or mine.  I hadn't even called your dad yet, I didn't feel the need to rush.  I'm sure I was driving your Papa nuts being so calm.

I made sure to put towels on the passenger seat, having heard horror stories about how the waters stain and deteriorate cushions and what not.  I could still feel you moving, slowly, just jabbing me here and there.  I wasn't feeling any contractions.  We decided to go pick up your brother and take him over to grandma Nell's as originally planned, seeing as how all of Bear's things were over there for him.  After dropping your brother off I called your dad, I left a message and figured if I didn't hear from him in 20 minutes I'd call security at his work and have them track him down.  He called back about 10 minutes later.  I let him know there was no huge rush, I wasn't having any contractions yet, so he could drive to Fernley and get the Malibu that had your carseat and our overnight things in it.

Once we reached Sparks, about 30 minutes away from Fernley, I began to feel some contractions.  I decided I should probably time them, seeing as how that's amongst the first questions the nurses will ask.  The contractions were about 3 minutes apart, lasting 45 seconds, which is pretty good.  They weren't strong enough to really hurt, so I imagine they weren't doing much.  I had your Papa park in the garage parking so I could walk a bunch, which really felt like waddling at that point.  Walking towards labor and delivery I was getting so excited, I couldn't wait to meet you.  When we got upstairs to L&D I checked in and waddled to a room and got into the silly hospital gowns.  Your dad was on his way, showed up soon.

The nurse had me all settled on the hospital bed, nice and uncomfortable, set up the belly band thing to monitor your heart and my contractions.  I could feel the contractions, nothing major yet.  Then the doctor arrived to check my cervix and confirm that my waters had in fact ruptured.  I didn't get to have the OBGYN that we had all of our appointments with, she was on vacation, of course.  Instead I had Dr. Farringer. He was interesting, funny.  When he checked I was 4cm dilated, which is exactly how many I needed to be in order to be admitted to Labor and Delivery officially.  That's when the contractions started to really, really hurt.  I started posting on Facebook, because that's the best distraction I could come up with.  Your Papa and Dad were sitting in some chairs.  With each contraction I squeezed onto the bed railing.  After a couple of hours your Papa went back home to be with Grandma and Colbert.  Then it was just your Dad and I, trying to distract me.

2PM and the nurse came in to check my cervix again, still only 4cm.  Contractions continued.

4PM and the nurse comes in again...5cm. Ugh! The doctors inquired about if I want an epidural before, I told them I wanted to feel things out, wanted to try to not have an epidural.  But since my labor wasn't progressing they wanted to give me petocin, and I remember just how much contractions really hurt after I was hooked up to some with your brother, so I thought about it and decided to go ahead and get an epidural since only being half way dilated and getting petocin meant I would probably have another 12 hours of labor and I was getting exhausted, I wanted to make sure I would have energy to push.  I hadn't eaten anything for 24 hours, all I could think about was food.  So game plan changed, petocin and epidural it was.

530PM still no progress in my labor.  Stuck at 5cm.  The doctor wanted to insert a thing to better track my contractions and make sure they were giving me the right amount of petocin.  I said ok after asking a few questions about it being safe and what not, and they inserted the thing around 545PM, and I of course posted to FB about it.

555PM Suddenly I started to feel intensely anxious, shakey, and incredibly uncomfortable.  That thing they put inside of me was hurting, I wanted so badly to just pull it out.  Something had to be wrong.  I paged the nurse.   She came in to check on me, I told her I wanted it out, she explained that they needed to monitor things.  She said she would go check with the doctor.  While the nurse was gone I was texting Sandra who gave me some excellent words of encouragement "That's stupid, it's your body! Its your birth of your child! If you think it's causing more problems than its helping, tell them to take the damn thing out!" So I did, sort of.  When the nurse walked back in I was in tears and she was finally concerned and said she would check on it to see if maybe adjusting it could make things feel better, I agreed to that being a good idea.

6PM Which is when she found you.  Crowning.  Somehow in the fifteen minutes between them inserting the monitor and the nurse looking to check on it, I progressed from 5cm to 10!  Once the nurse exclaimed that you were crowning I understood the feeling I was having. You'd think I'd know what it felt like after having gone through it once before, but with your brother my labor progressed one centimeter at a time, so forgive me for being in denial that you could possibly be ready to come out just 15 minutes after being told I was still at 5cm.

The nurses all came in, prepping the room.  Around 615PM or so the doctor moseys on in like there's no rush.  He lifts up the sheet and sees you on your way out all by yourself, no pushing on my end yet, the nurses had advised me not to.  He looked shocked and said something like "Woah!" and throws on his doctor gear and pulls up a stool to sit down ready to catch you.  One push and your head is out, another and your shoulders are out, one last push and you were out.  I could feel you moving your way out of me after each contraction without my even pushing.  From my end you practically birthed yourself.  The world had better look out for you.  You'll be moving mountains in no time.  You cried loud, not as loud as your brother though.  Once you were out I got to have you on my chest right away, one of those things that when you think about it too hard it's gross, but in the moment nothing else matters. While on my chest you calmed, you stopped crying, and I couldn't stop talking to you.  The nurses asked if I was ready for you to be weighed, I said not yet.  With Bear I didn't know I could say things like that, so I wanted to make sure to hold you as long as I wanted to.  When the nurse put you on the scale to weigh you you nearly rolled yourself over, you were viciously strong from the get go.  After that I got to hold you some more and get you to nurse.  You nursed like a champ, for a full 15 minutes.  I wasn't so sure about breastfeeding before you were born, but I was elated that you were able to do exactly what you needed to.  Unfortunately that all changed from there on out, but I'll tell you about that later.  After all that you left with your dad to the nursery.

You were born at 6:31PM, weighed 7lbs 7oz, and 19.5 inches.

The next day you got to meet your brother, your papa, grandma, and many others.  The pediatrician, Dr. Pat, said you were so feisty it wasn't too late to change your name to something like Susan, he said I was really setting myself up naming you Delilah.

On January 8th at 10am we finally got to take you home.

Keep Away

It's nights like this that I hate you for throwing your family away because Colbert has nightmares all the time now, scared because you use to tell him you would never let a monster in the house. I hate that I'm not enough for him to keep away the monsters.

Rage

I teeter on the brink of rage almost constantly now. I’m not that person. I want to move on. I want to shove all of this away and finally feel peace. At work I maintain my composure, but by the time the week comes to an end and I’m home to another empty weekend my fuse is short. I’m that person that puts her babies to bed a half hour early for the sake of sanity. I wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone!

The many times that people told me I deserved better, that no one deserves the way things were between him and I, I would jump to his defense, I’d make up excuses for him, I’d lie to them and myself. I remember one person in particular telling me that I shouldn’t put up with it, I should just leave and do what’s best for my children, my instant response was “I can’t do this alone, I don’t want to do this alone, I don’t want to raise two kids on my own…one is one thing, but two?” they then pointed out the number of children I take care of every day; that isn’t the same, not even close. The children I care for I love like my own, but I also love their families, sure some of their families would drive me up the wall, but really I loved them and had hopes and dreams for them just as I would anyone else I care for. All of those children would go home to their families. At the time I couldn’t imagine going home to caring for two children on my own, I had seen many other women struggle with exactly that. This particular person advising me was a single mother of two, an above average woman because she adopted the two children, took on each child already single, knowing from the get go the struggles ahead. There lies the difference between her and I. She had the mindset to begin with of being a single mother (not to mention the financial stability), I however had the mindset of being married to the father of my children, and although I wouldn’t get any emotional support, at least there would be financial support and a parent to help buffer difficult parenting struggles.

I’m trying to let go of it…let go of the future I thought I would have. To let go of that future I need to have some sort of idea on how I’m going to handle my current future. As it currently stands I’m in a ditch, and to get out I need to make some seriously big changes. Things have got to change financially in order for me to raise two children on my own…I just haven’t the faintest idea on how I’m going to do so. Right now after all the bills are paid I’m left with $250 a month to spend on groceries, diapers, wipes, etc…any extra expenditure requires me to not eat to save money. Which I do. Routinely, because bills must be paid…none of them can be skipped...and there’s always extra expenditures. I’m at bare minimum already. Which is really where the rage originates. Stupid money. There’s nothing I can do about it as things currently stand because getting a second job would require me to have a babysitter for my children, which would cost money, which would then defeat the purpose of having the second job in the first place. My moral compass barely holds strong enough to prevent me from stealing. I now understand the feeling that drives a person to commit crimes and thieve for necessity. Back when the iPad from work was stolen and I had to come up with the funds to replace it I seriously contemplated doing something illegal…but instead cut my food intake in half and sold some valuables that although priceless to me, still had a price. I sure hope that the person that stole the iPad in the first place had a higher need for the monetary value of it than I…I hope it wasn’t just so they could score some easy cash for drugs.

One day it will get better. I will make it better. I will find a way. I’ve just gotta follow through with a current plan and go from there. There’s a boatload of unanswered questions, but as long as I don’t fret too much about them, they don’t weigh me down so much. My plate is overflowing, but I still have the choice to take one bite at a time…no harm in eating it cold in the future. Or maybe I will find a dog I can feed it to under the table.

“What counts most in human existence is the dignity and courage with which a person conducts himself in the process of being destroyed by life and the world.” -Hemmingway

Won't make same

I hate you. I hate you because I can't wish you dead because that would hurt my son too much. I hate you because I find myself missing the life I was planning to have. The life that involved having someone who could be there for me when I needed them the most. I hate you because I'm sitting here crying over you when you treated me like shit. I hate you because my kids deserve better.  I hate you because you didn't include me in your decision to end our marriage. I hate you because you're an asshole who couldn't even take a damn picture of me with my baby after she was born because you're a moron who has no clue why that would be important. I hate you because you're so fucking selfish it's unreal. I hate you because you think you can show up at my place whenever you damn well please. I hate you because you're oblivious to the fact that my son can't count on you, you tell him you always pick him up when you tell him you'll pick him up, but what you're forgetting are the times you told him you would pick him up but didn't! I hate you because I didn't see it coming when I should have after giving you a new phone I had saved up for over two months time for Valentine's day, which you promptly locked, then didn't give me anything...I should have known then.  I hate you because you're being supportive to HER. HER! I hate HER. I hate HER because she knew before me that you wanted a divorce. I hate HER because she thinks so highly of you when you're a total piece of fucking shit.

One day you'll hate yourself the way I hate you now. I won't always hate you. One day I will be enough for my children. One day I will be able to give them all that they need without you. One day you will wonder what the fuck you were thinking leaving us. One day you'll regret this. One day you'll realize that putting new clothes on your own back when your children are outgrowing theirs is selfish. One day you will realize the sacrifices I made, because you won't find another woman willing to drive that damn commute so that you can avoid fucking traffic as you live happily in a sub par life in this small ass town. One day you'll realize that choosing to hang out with HER and your friends was a waste of your time because while you were busy making them your priority I was busy consoling a 5 year old with disappointment from his father not picking him up from school like he said he would.

Our daughter was 6 weeks when you told me you wanted a divorce, in the midst of my having a mental breakdown from trying to recover from child birth, trying to keep up with house work, coping with endless nights of screaming from a colic infant for three weeks prior while you slept soundly in our bed with me on the couch so we wouldn't fucking wake you from your precious sleep regardless of whether or not you worked the next day which you only did for 4 out of the 7 day's so the least you could have fucking done was help me!  6 WEEKS!! Do you realize what that means for her?? That means when she is old enough to do math and know how short of a time span that is she's going to blame her own existence for her parents divorce. Thank God she has me to set her thoughts at ease and talk to her about it because you're too emotionally illiterate to even comprehend how another person feels because your life has been nothing but joy and the second it wasn't joyful for you you fucking bailed.

Even your family thinks you're an asshole.
I wonder what your dad would think of you. What do you think?

How does it feel to know that another man who is like family but isn't technically related to me is responsible for the roof over your children's heads? That it is out of the extreme kindness in another's heart that your children sleep warmly every night and play with plenty of room each day.

One of the reasons I fell in love with you and wanted to spend my life with you was because you wanted to be a stay at home dad one day, which I thought meant you would love your kids, enjoy spending quality time with them, and support my desire to become educated enough to obtain a job financially allowing you to stay home....I didn't know what that really meant was you want to stay home, play video games, eat copious amounts of junk food and expect the children to fend for themselves.

I'll be smarter if there's a next time for me, I'll make sure to ask more questions, because I should have asked how you picture the life of a stay at home dad being and how it would be made possible.  I was a fool for loving you.

But life can only get better from here. It will be better for all of us without you.

I won't make the same mistake again.

Days Like This

I hate him for days like this. I try so hard not to hate him, but it is day's, well really nights, like this that I begin to loathe his nearly insignificant existence.

I didn't make the choice to have these children on my own. He made the choice with me to have them, he made the choice without me to throw us all away. But there he is now, in his house, by himself, while I continue to make every sacrifice like I always have had to for my children. It is me who loses sleep to care for them, it is me who skips meals to feed them, it is me who foregoes buying clothes for myself so that they can have what they need.

I hate him at times like these because it is me who is up at 4am to change the bed sheets and bathe our 5 year old, it is I who is loving and caring for our sick 7 month old with a fever of 104 and inconsolable tears. Yet he gets to claim himself as father, he thinks he is fan fricken tastic.

I am the one being the parent here, day in and day out. But he boasts how beautiful his daughter is, how smart his son is, as if he had anything to do with those things. She looks just like me, every piece of her, because of me she is beautiful, not him. It is I who made sure to sacrifice everything necessary to make sure my son got the best education, and not just academically but social-emotional too, which lets face it, he had nothing to do with because he sees no value in education.

I hate him because he says how beautiful she is but rarely if ever noted me as beautiful. I hate him because he remarks how smart our son is but always viewed me as unintelligent.

I hate him because after having two kids I now have to find another someone to love and love me, with a body of a woman who has had two kids. I hate that I wasted the body I once had on a man like him.

Don't get me wrong, it is not being a mom that I hate, it isn't even being a single mom that I hate, it is that he gets to claim them as his product of love and care when it is all MY love and care that has gone into the incredible children that they are.

Most of all I hate him for the unfairest of reasons, for making me a fool for choosing him, not once not even just twice to have children with but choosing him again and again to be with me but he didn't have the decency to be there. I hate him for the way I now hate myself. I hate that I let him have even an ounce of power over me. Which isn't even his fault, it is my own for choosing him, for letting him, for even wanting him in the first place...it is no one's fault but my own for all of this. So really I hate myself.

I hate him for doing what my father did, robbed his children of a loving home consisting of both the parents that created them.

Ultimately I hate him for being the type of father his children will hate him for being once they have children of their own and make all the sacrifices and see first hand all the efforts their own father never put forth. But they won't hate him until long after they've gone through the phase of hating their mother that sacrifices every fiber of her being for them.

Push

The number of changes that are about to happen are beginning to overwhelm me.  I try to just breathe through it, push my thoughts aside, push through all the hurt, the fear, the excitement.  I've become a melting pot of emotions.  I was banking on a job I had applied for, I had everything planned out in my head, but even though they wanted to give me the job they couldn't because of a silly technicality that doesn't make any sense, something out of everyone's control.  A big game changer.

This week I'm moving out with Bear and Lila, because somehow even though he is the one that asked for the divorce, I'm the one who moves out, I'm the bad guy. Whatever. Moving on.  I'm scared, but excited for this new beginning.

Next week I say goodbye to my kiddos at work, some that I've cared for the past 3 years.  I can't even begin to express how I feel about saying goodbye to them.  It's heart breaking, I love them all so much.

The week after that I will be getting 8 new babies at work, a whole new start to another 3 year adventure with little ones.  With a new teaching partner who has been so great, I really have lucked out.  I'm looking forward to starting out with a whole new group.

Then Lila will be starting to go to child care where Bear currently goes to school.  She will be in the infant room, meeting 7 new friends, getting to know 2 teachers and learning a ton about the world around her.

THEN BEAR STARTS KINDERGARTEN! AAAHHH!! Which really just tops it all off, it scares the crap out of me. I know he's ready...I've spent thousands in high quality care for him and pre-k so I know he's more than ready.  I'm just not sure how everything is going to pan out with all the changes going on.

I have so many questions floating in my head.  I am full of so many frustrations I want to explode.

Rant

I need to rant, rave, and write. The past 6 months have been a whirl wind of events.  Where to begin...

How about DJ's birth.  Delilah Joy aka DJ aka Lila.  Well, then again, I suppose I should have a separate blog post specifically for her birth story, so as to avoid getting in this soon to be jumbled mess of a rant.  So I'll hold off for now.

She was born.  Then I died on the inside, a little bit, for a little while.  Breastfeeding was a nightmare.  I was told repeatedly how beautiful it would be, how great of a connection, how it should come naturally, how it shouldn't be painful, but all I ever felt was severe pain and agony, therefore I was broken and a failure.  So I had to pump milk for her, one boob at a time, each one for 20 minutes, every time she ate.  So that meant that every time she ate I had to feed her, change her, get her back to sleep, pump, wash-rinse-repeat.  What a typical breastfeeding mom would encounter or even one feeding formula, would have been a 20-30 minute feeding routine, was this elaborate nearly hour and a half routine for me, only to be repeated every 2-3 hours...so when did I sleep?  Hardly ever.  You know what happens when you're sleep deprived and literally draining your body of nutrients and hormonally inducing that sleepy feeling one gets after nursing? You lose your mind. You hit rock bottom.  To top it all off at 3 weeks Delilah started to become colicky. Do you know what colic is? It's when a baby cries for HOURS for NO reason, and NOTHING you do soothes them.  They aren't crying because they are tired, or wet, or hungry, or in pain...simply crying for who knows why.  Characteristically in the evening hours.  Meaning even less sleep.  I know what you're thinking...where's the father of this child to help out? Well, he doesn't wake to the sound of an infant crying, needed his sleep, and didn't care how the mother was feeling...how she was heartbroken, torn, beat down, defeated, lost...he didn't care.  He cared so little that when she broke down after being extremely sleep deprived and listening to HOURS of inconsolable crying for WEEKS, when her daughter was 6 weeks old and she lost it and tried to confide in him out of fear...he told her "You have things you need to take care of...just do it.  Pull yourself together and act like a fucking adult" soon followed by "We better just call it quits now and try and salvage a friendship for our children's sake."  Yep, real supportive right there, exactly what a mother at her absolute worst wants to hear from the one person on earth who is suppose to be helping.

Then I stare at my 6 week old and the life I had growing up with divorced parents flashes before my eyes.  Before I had gotten pregnant with her I told myself I would make whatever sacrifices I needed to make in order to work things out with him.  But none of them were enough, the sacrifices I made went unnoticed.  The time with friends that I skipped.  The hours spent in the car to and from work 40 miles away.  Throwing in the towel and giving up my dream of ever being near my family, and staying in Ferntucky for the rest of my life.  Accepting lower quality education for my children.  My son sacrificing the joy of having playmates over because none of them thought an hour drive one way was logical.  All of those sacrifices....none of them were of value to him, so why on earth was I even making them? He didn't see how any of those things were a big deal.  He didn't see how staying in a town near his family, near his friends, was a sacrifice for me when my family and my friends were all far away.  In a town that has a hick small town mentality that I cannot relate to, making it impossible to find friends to relate to.  Why did I sacrifice my own happiness in an attempt for his?  Well I now realize that that was a terrible idea...I'm almost positive that isn't how a marriage works.  Yes families make sacrifices for the better of one quite often, but he was never going to reciprocate or even acknowledge sacrifices made.  But I'm the selfish one in his eyes, I didn't make any sacrifices he says.  In his eyes I could have gotten any job in Fernley...because that's exactly what I wanted to do with the education I got, take "any job"...work at WalMart...that's every education driven individual's dream.  To him that would have been a valid sacrifice...to me, that was crossing the line.

After that I died inside.  I became a shell.  I became a single parent with a roommate who babysits our child 3 days a week.  After you have a baby, you're at your most vulnerable state imaginable. Nothing about your body, your hormones, your anything, nothing is normal, everything is changed...then to throw zero support on top of it...it's no wonder I shrank down to nothingness.

Women who have difficulty breastfeeding during the first two weeks are twice as likely to develop postpartum depression. I was what is called a perfect storm candidate for PPD.  There's a family history of depression, marital conflict, an infant with health issues, next to no support, and hormonal risks.  Then throw in a multitude of changes in the workplace, exclusively pumping breast milk, and a drastic change in my diet due to Lila's allergies...well there you have it, a perfect storm.

There is one thing that I have going for me, one major thing.  My education.  I know child develop like the back of my hand, I'm a trained observer, I also know the signs of PPD and have been trained in identifying it in others.  So I reached out, joined a support group for moms who also had to exclusively pump...because let me tell you, it's unlike any stress that you could imagine.  Here's some insight to the insanity: 39 steps to help prepare you for exclusively pumping
One of the mom's in the group posted a picture of their baby's upper lip, she explained it was an Upper Lip Tie (ULT) and that it was the cause for all of her breastfeeding issues, she described how her little one acted while breastfeeding, how painful it was for her...basically described the exact same experience I was going through at the time.  That had to be it, that had to be exactly what my baby's problem was.  Instantly I went to Delilah and lifted up her upper lip and I knew it, her upper lip looked exactly like this other baby's. I was always staring at Delilah's face (being the observer that I am), determining which parts of her looked like me vs her dad...her mouth I couldn't figure out.  It definitely wasn't Rogers...and well it didn't seem like mine, I would tell people her bottom lip is just like mine, but somethings different about her upper lip, it was so thin when she smiled.  Which was because it was basically tied down, when I smile my upper lip stays exposed, while as hers was as if it were stapled in the middle and couldn't stay pouted out during a smile.  Which then led to a journey of getting laser surgery to release the tie.  Another blog post in the making.

And now here I am, nearly 6 months later.  A lot of other things have become even more disastrous.  Yet I'm coming around the bend and feeling a lot less depressed.  I've been exercising when I can...trying to go on walks where I push the big 4 child strollers at work for 30 minutes several times a week, in the sunshine...seems to be helping.  My next goal is to hopefully get Delilah on formula, so I can stop my insane diet that has me wasting away to nothing and finally get my energy back by eating normal meals.

The quote below speaks loudly to me, as I'm sure it does to him too.  He didn't think I was making any sacrifices, he didn't think I was showing him that I wanted him.  Every little way possible I felt I could show him went unnoticed.  I hate that.  I hate that nothing I did could make him feel wanted.

Snap

"We accept the love we think we deserve."- Stephen Chbosky

How strangely true that quote is.  I suppose that explains why I allow the people in my life to treat me the way that they do.  I'm sure a therapist would say I need to work more on setting boundaries, however I already have very few people in my life, if I were to set more boundaries I'd be left with even less.

Right now as I currently face the idea of being a single parent of two I'm terrified to ever bother finding someone else to be with. My track record (with the exception of one) shows I clearly lack the ability to allow myself to be loved by someone good for me, I accept the love I think I deserve, which when I reflect upon the love I currently receive I must think I deserve shit.

I've become so angry these past three weeks I feel like I'm going to snap.  My overall patience level with life is low...which in comparison to the average person is still high, but it's just making me feel even worse about things. I'm also extra sensitive.  The other day a friend made a comment that normally I could just look past, but instead it hurt like hell and I ended up crying for hours then arriving to work with blood shot eyes telling everyone who asked if I was ok that it was probably just lack of sleep.

About a week ago I was confiding in a friend, saying "There must be a reason why God is making all of this so hard for me..." to which she responded "Pray about it. Maybe he's making things better but you can't see it yet."  Which was excellent advice.  I know that the recent events can potentially lead to more positive things in my life, especially in the long run, but I'm just sort of stuck in this rut of a shitty outlook on life.  I'm just scared and feeling alone in the world.  I know I'm not alone, logically I can pick up a phone and call a variety of people, I just feel too weighed down to pick up the phone.

I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to do anything.  Fortunately I was able to kick my own butt enough to go to sushi the other day with a friend, which was so incredibly needed, best night I've had in a long time, finally felt like a human again.  Amazing what good company and good food can do for the soul.

I miss my friends. I can't count the number of times I've gone to call them lately and convinced myself I shouldn't because it's too late, or too early, or I don't want to wake up Delilah, or whatever other excuse I come up with...so then I don't.  I miss Vanessa so much it's childish, we spent 2 years seeing each other every day for nearly 8 hours a day then still hanging out on some weekends, it's hard to find someone you never get sick of.  I miss Sandra a great deal and just want to run away to Seattle to drive around and talk like we use to and she can give me insight that no one else can.  I miss Megan and her bitchy attitude towards life where she backs me up no matter what.  I miss my sisters, Heather because I feel like she would have so much wisdom to shed on my life right now, and Charlotte because we can spend hours and hours talking with complete honesty and know we can't offend the other.  I miss Samm...I talk to her more than anyone, like a crazy person does, just in the middle of the night when I've got tears streaming down my face because she was for the longest time the only person I let see my tears, and you can talk to someone who has died with tears and they still understand you if you're a blubbering idiot.

I'm able to find such great girlfriends, why do I settle for so much less elsewhere and prevent anything more?

A huge part of me wishes I could just make decisions right now and skip to August.