This week has been total and utter hell. I finally broke down into weeping tears last night when I went to bed.
I get up at 5:15 every morning. Work by 7:30. Then, work coupled with jerk patients has been asinine to say the least. Totally overbooked and over-busy, being pulled in six different directions at once. Staying late, and then getting home to have your grandmother ask you to go to the store, and go to drop off and then pickup her prescription meds, and then having to run to a third store to pick up fruit cocktail for my husband, because he only likes a specific brand sold at one store. Get home, the guinea pig cage needs to be cleaned out. The dog needs a bath because she ran into the mud and she’s an all white dog. Dinner is half-way cooked but needs to be finished because my Grams “just can’t” as she disappears upstairs to sleep. I finally sit down for the first time at 9:30 at night and then I’m in bed by 10:00. I’m not sleeping, though. My brain decides at that particular time to start trying to figure out how I’m going to pay the bills on time. That’s always a fantastic time to start figuring out how to produce more money from the sky than what you will actually have.
Last night, after I had done another nightly store run to pick up sugar (Grams can’t live without sweet tea), my husband and I were sitting in the sunroom and I was looking through old pictures of myself and of my daughter. I scrolled past one of me when I was a lot thinner, shortly after The Abuser and I split up. My husband joked “You used to be pretty” (we always make fun of each other in the worst ways) and I was like “Yeah, I know.” Then, in a serious voice he was like “Honey, you could look like that again if you wanted to.”
That destroyed me. It messed me up so much that when I went to reach for my drink, it went shattering to the ground. I was like “What did you say??” He was like, “You know that’s not how I meant it.” In my head, there was no other way to mean it. I told him goodnight and went to the bedroom and cried myself to sleep. He sent me a text just before I fell asleep that said “I don’t care what you say, you know I think you’re gorgeous.” I didn’t have it in me to reply. The voices in my head were loud, and they were harsh. The Abusers word ran through my mind over and over again.
“The first time I saw you, my first thought was that I should have kept driving.”
“I will rub your back when you get down to the weight you’re supposed to.”
“Don’t smile, it isn’t attractive.”
“You will never be anything without me.”
“I want to be with someone that I can pick up and put them against the wall and fuck. What kind of boring sex will we always have if I can’t even pick you up?”
“You should be able to see the knuckles on a woman’s hands without her making a fist. You can’t see your knuckles because of the fat on your skin.”
“If you can’t see your collarbones, you’re too fat.”
My mind has replayed all of this shit plus more, all day today. When I looked in the mirror last night, I hated myself for the first time in a long time. On the way to work this morning I thought about getting Gastric Bypass surgery, then realized that requires recovery time out of work, and I don’t have the kind of job that I can afford to miss work.
The other day my daughter told me that her step-mom said something about the age in which my daughter can start dating. When my daughter told her step-mom that both I and her dad said a different age, her step-mom remarked “Well, your mom started dating at 14 and look how that turned out.”
Man, that shit really hurt, you know? I mean, step-mom grew up in a very VERY well-to-do family. Her parents paid for her private school, paid her way through college, and still pay for them to go no expensive trips. My dad abandoned me at birth, my mom was a drug addict, I had to raise my brother when I was eight years old because my mom was too drugged out to get up and take care of him. I left home permanently at 16/17 years old. I had my daughter just before I turned 19. I’ve worked since I was 15, I graduated high school despite all of that. My mom had drug addicts live with her that stole all of our shit, down to our clothes. I mean, I think considering the fact that I didn’t have the same life that she had, or the same opportunities, I’m doing pretty damn good. And it makes me sad to think that she see’s me that way, because I always thought we got along pretty well.
It has been a very bad week. I feel ugly, unwanted, stupid, and an all-around failure. I just want to sleep. I want this to just go away. I want to wake up and be flawless so nobody can tell me what it is that i need to improve about myself. I want to make the voices of my past go away. I want to undo the damage that has been done.