u/MaMaJillianLeanna

Therapist: "Well if you can compartmentalize it for now..."

Me: "That's not how this works, the whole problem is I have no control of when things circle back around to fuck with my head."

Friend: "Yeah but you do realize the other shoe isn't going to drop, right? Everything is going to be fine, there's no sense in worrying about how it can all go wrong..."

Me: gestures broadly at my entire life full of different traumas

Daughter: "Well maybe if you face your traumas head on you can find some closure with them."

Me: "If I face them head on I want to off myself. And there's so many, this is my entire life we're talking about. So the feeling is amplified ten fold because I am tired."

____________________________

How do I explain to people that the common and simple methods don't work for me without sounding like a parrot squawking "CPTSD, CPTSD" over and over again?! FUCK.

____________________________

Edit: My daughter is an adult by the way. I would never consult a child on my damage.

Went to the DMV today as we just moved states and while I had to transfer my license, my 18 year old had to get her very first State ID (still working on getting her license).

She was nervous as all hell but I reminded her that she's 18, she has all her documents, it'll be easy peasy.

The meat and potatoes of their interaction went well enough but then the guy says "Would you like to register to vote?" to her.

She paused, panicked, and responded, "I'm 18."

This made the guy pause. I'm sure he was confused. The only reason he asked is because she's 18. So he repeated, "Yeah, so did you want to register to vote?"

She got overwhelmed and decided to say no because she didn't know what all that would entail.

She leaves her appointment, I finish mine. She tells me how it all went down and I cannot stop laughing.

You just know the dude is going to go home to his wife like "Kids these days, Jesus Christ..."

"You want to register to vote?"

"I'm 18."

...You SURE are, kiddo. Holy shit. That's the entire reason we're asking. Lmao!

Edit for anyone thinking I'm just mean: We talked about it. I explained everything to her. We're going to get her registered. Just the humor wasn't lost on me.

Edit: Ya'll in the comments need to calm down a bit. It's funny. Laugh a little. Holy cow.

Dear [RECENT EX HUSBAND],

I'm putting this on my Freewrite because you have made it clear you would rather turn a blind eye to how much you have hurt me than to accept any accountability. This deep and thorough betrayal of my heart and what it felt for you has fallen on deaf ears through this entire divorce process. But still I sit here every day fighting the urge to scream in your direction. I cry silently and alone when I would rather shout myself hoarse to anyone who will listen. You have destroyed me. You've caused me to collapse. Every breath hurts, every night is lonely, and every morning is full of regret.

When we met you told me over and over that you understood the suffering I had been through. >!From neglect, to abandonment, to molestation, to abuse, to rape, to more abuse, to another rape, to more abuse, to more abandonment, to another rape...!< You held my arm and kissed the scars I had from cutting myself over the years and promised me I would never have to feel that way again and here I am. My hands shake when I smoke because they'd rather be holding a blade. I stare at your number in my phone and ask myself why every single day...

Every single time I asked you to explain why you left your story changed. I've re-read the messages over and over again and the answer was never the same. First you said you had to leave because this wasn't the life for you and it took you 11 years to realize it. When I agreed, you picked a fight over me making assumptions.

Then, it was because I hadn't exactly made you a priority over the last year. When I agreed, you got angry because I had asked you if the ten years prior to this last one meant nothing.

Following that, you said it was because I can't have a child. This was when we REALLY started fighting. You know the story behind it, I know the story behind it. We discussed my hysterectomy ad nauseum. Prior to getting a hysterectomy we had agreed that I would give you a child if we met two particular conditions. Within our first three years, we had to be madly in love and financially stable. I was not willing to raise a child alone or poor again. [RECENT EX HUSBAND], I now know that you never really loved me - and in those three years, you didn't get a single job. This "reason" was what bred hate in my heart towards you and it took over like a cancer.

Couple that with the famous text message. "I am sorry for being so hollow and thinking that by saying and doing the love, that it would also fill my heart. There were times I felt it, or at least thought I did. But it never stayed, I didn't know how or why."

Your words. Verbatim.

See - my hang up on that text message is this: The entire time we were together I made it clear in a mostly light hearted manner that I loved you more. Or I "really" loved you. I knew the whole time that your affection wasn't genuine and I just continued to ignore it and trust in your words. I had faith in us. I had faith in what you said every time I'd make those jokes. I believed you. But deep within those pools of green and blue staring back at me day after day, all I saw were the ghosts of my own reflection. Was it so much to ask you to return what I gave to you freely and without remorse? I gave you my entire heart, mind, and soul. I let you see me at my most vulnerable. I let you hear me in the throws of mania. I let you in, [RECENT EX HUSBAND]. I really thought you would be the one forever and you left me. I took down my walls brick by brick and you built your own walls with them. Even worse, you expected me to provide the mortar.

After you said it was my inability (or unwillingness as you would tell it) to have a child with you, you then claimed that my choice of friends was the problem. Specifically [FRIEND]. You still claim that she promised you a baby. She still claims a promise was never made. I personally am sick of that entire situation. It's always boiled down to you and her with that fight. But back when it was active and happening in real time, nobody gave a single FUCK what I was going through. My partner was trying to fuck my friend - no. That would have been fine. The problem was my partner was trying to court my friend. And my friend wasn't putting a stop to it. You both hurt me then - so when you get mad over me STILL maintaining a friendship with [FRIEND] you forget one very important detail... I maintained my relationship with you as well. Despite the pain, I looked past it on both ends because I love.

When I love, I love deeply and without condition. FUCK YOU for taking advantage of that. Fuck [FRIEND]. Fuck [1ST EX HUSBAND]. Fuck [EX BF]. Fuck my dad. Fuck my mom. Fuck my sisters. Fuck literally every single person I loved that burned me. I wish you all felt maybe even one morsel of shame over how every single one of you had a part in destroying who I am. Who I was. Who I will be. Fuck everyone who used me. Abused me. Saw me as an easy mark. Took advantage of me. Fuck literally all of you. But god damn it I can't let any of you go. I was abandoned by my mother as a child and now I don't want anyone to leave regardless of the hurt they cause. And the hilariously tragic thing is that they leave anyway. Sans accountability.

The worst part of this entire ordeal is hindsight. Looking back I can see all of your narcissistic patterns. The very VERY subtle manipulation and guilt tripping. The poor me act and the victim complex. The paranoia. It was so obvious to literally everyone but me. With all the reading I've done on it, I know that I will never hear a truth from you that makes sense and that was your plan all along. To make a crazy person feel even more insane. Gets you off the hook.

You know I'm diagnosed. You know I have problems. You've known since you met me. But still, that last night we fought as a couple - you said "You are fucking crazy." You said it twice with malice in your voice.

I was so confused because, duh? I know. And it dawned on me weeks later, you were trying to hurt me by calling me crazy to my face. You were trying to weaponize my disability to make the situation worse. How does that feel to you? Hearing it spelled out like that. I AM fucking crazy, dummy. That's my entire character arc and here you are just making it worse. Comical now to say the least but I'm always taken back by your incompetence.

That's the other part that gets me. After the split - immediately after - I still loved you. I even wished you the best. I sat there and made photo albums of our time together. I very carefully filled a large chest with trinkets and memories. I had hope that I could also keep my friend while losing a husband and I was wildly transparent about that. But as I reached out to you trying to find clarity in the sea of pain I was drowning in, you made it harder and harder for me to feel that love. It's as if you were actively trying to make me hate you. As if you didn't want to maintain any semblance of connection. You really just wanted to wash your hands of me and forget that I put all of my time and energy into trying to make you happy. You wanted to turn around and see nothing whereas I found myself stuck seeing my child's only real father, my partner, my friend...

The why of that will always haunt me. Why did you want me to hate you? Why did you MAKE me hate you? You could have been kind. You could have been transparent. You could have been honest. We could have remained friends and come to a conclusion that suited us both. But I don't think that was ever in your plans. When I try to think of a way to put it plainly - rather than embracing the storm and hoping for a rainbow together, you broke the umbrella and chose to be alone.

I gave you 11 years. I gave you my all, my time, my energy, my love, my patience... I gave you EVERYTHING for over a decade. Was I exhausted this past year? You bet. Did I slip and start crushing some of your precious eggshells? Absolutely. But how is ten years of devotion completely voided by a bought of exhaustion? Do you understand how much energy it takes to be around you? How much tandem suffering has to be endured to keep your fragile ego appeased? All you do is talk and talk and talk about how it's all so bad and you're such a victim when you don't even know what real suffering is. I understand that to me the bread is nothing, to the ant the bread is everything - But holy shit you are the loudest ant I have ever fucking heard. It's non-stop. It was so bad that my birthday wish last year (the year prior to me giving up on your joy) was to just hear you come home ONE time and say you had a good day. THAT'S how constant it was. Can you even see that? Even a little bit?

Of course I was tired. Of course I stopped pining for your happiness. I was never going to see it, I was never going to succeed. I was never going to have the ability to make you happy and I think I know why. You claimed that I was parading your failures in front of you, especially in the past year. The things I DIDN'T say to you in the past ELEVEN years would destroy you. I did my best for so long to NOT point out your short-comings and failures. I ignored them, bottled them up, let them eat me alive... But somehow you not feeling compelled to comfort me after a surgery was a step too far. Me not ringing that FUCKING bell for one of the most high functioning autistics I have ever met was the final straw because I DARED to point out that it hurt me.

You are aware that it is a well known scientific fact that when people are on pain killers and coming off of anesthesia they are not themselves, right? You do remember that before surgery I told you and Jordyn where the Ativan was and said that if I get to be too much, shake the damn bottle in front of me until I take it, yeah? No... No I don't think you know or remember much of anything thanks to the relentless alcoholism and frankly, fuck it.

I'll never get you to tell me why you left. I'll never know if you miss me. I'll never hear the apologies I need. I'll never be given the thanks I deserve. You ran away to let mommy coddle you and tell you you'll always be her handsome little soldier forever and it's ok that women don't understand her poor tortured misunderstood little prince. JE-SUS-CHRIST I fucking hate you. Must be nice to be so fucking blind to your own toxicity. I consistently have to taste my own, regret it, and work on it. What work did you EVER do on yourself for my sake? For [CHILD]'s sake? The only work you ever did was work yourself up over nothing CONSTANTLY. You have zero regard for the damage you've done and the wildest part is you probably won't ever see it or take accountability for it.

If I'm being honest with myself, losing you would have been easier if you had died. Shit, dealing with the loss now would be easier if I heard you were dead. You wanted me to hate you and that's what you got. I was in your corner without fault for a third of your life. A third of my life. Over half of [CHILD]'s life. You threw it away and turned your back on it like it was nothing. You claimed it never meant anything. You lied to me for eleven fucking years.

I don't really know how to end this. I don't wish you well. I certainly will never find forgiveness for what you did or how you did it. But I suppose I do have to thank you. I loved you unconditionally which means I NEVER would have left you. You didn't love me, the act you put on trying to convince me that you loved me was half-assed at best. You HARDLY stepped up as a father, and while you were a decent placeholder for a dad, you gave up on being one the first time [CHILD] showed distaste for your sad boy act. As far as being a provider, all you did was complain about every single job and you never tried to do more or improve things in that regard. You were always jealous of my successes and my happiness, always made me feel bad for doing well. [RECENT EX HUSBAND], I never would have left you. I could never hurt you that way -

So thank you for puss-ing out of the most ideal situation you've ever been in. Thank you for walking away from the one person who looked past your flaws and pathetic attitude towards life. Thank you for abandoning the woman who pushed ALL of her own problems aside to help you with yours. Thank you for letting go of a family that not only cared for you, but WANTED you to stick around. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to thrive, work on myself fully, and maybe find a real man that has his shit together.

Thank you, kindly.

- Me

I've had such a massive, fresh trauma hit me recently and while I know it's not healthy for me, I normally push my feelings down and power through the day as if nothing happened.

The problem with this method of coping is that I find myself literally choking on my emotions in random moments and things get so overwhelming so quickly once this is set off. My eyes will suddenly get hot and start stinging, my throat gets tight, my airways close up, my chest feels as if it's going to collapse in on itself, and my arms want to burst into flames. It's uncomfortable, no, painful - and then my head realizes what's happening and I fall apart.

It all catches up with me from nothing and suddenly I can't hide from my feelings anymore. I can't push off the processing until Monday's therapy session. I can't just look the other way and soldier on... It engulfs me and I can't stop it. Then I sit there weak and pathetic, sobbing in silence at what looks to be nothing from any outside perspective. But what people can't see are the flashes of images in my head - >! a hand touches my leg, a fist connects with my chest, screams and shouts telling me I'm worthless, a home that was mine fading into nothingness, blood trickling down my face in a dirty bathroom mirror, countless men and women walking away, just their backs and never their faces, the heft and weight of another body in the dark pinning me down, being slapped across the face just for crying !< - and how it all just continues to break me.

My heart breaks for itself in these moments and it's such a weighted sense of sorrow. Setting aside the "why me" and the "how could they" - it's just me sitting there mourning the normal and happy girl that could have been but never was. She never got a chance to exist, never got a chance to feel the sun, never got a chance to hear music without meaning or view a painting without a message. If I were an outsider looking in on the tearful woman sat here that can barely catch a breath let alone a fucking break - I would just want to hold her.

The weight we carry here, and the times that weight overcomes our walls and makes us sink down into rubble time and time again... I just can't take it sometimes. And the worst part is that when I am doing well, there's always that daunting question burning behind my ears - When will it catch up to me again?

I'm over the moon and can't stop smiling. My confidence is through the roof, my body feels great, and I want to do a million jumping jacks while screaming "I GOT LAID!"

The reality of the situation -

I have cPTSD. My self worth has always stemmed from being desired because of >!molestation, rape, and repeated sexual abuse.!< I was only ever wanted for what my body could provide.

So I only feel good because I've been conditioned to feel this way. I'm fresh out of an 11 year marriage. I've been talking to this guy on an app for a month. We met for the first time and hooked up. I felt rejection and pain from my husband leaving me, and I've been feeling that rejection and pain every day since he left... And suddenly I don't feel it because I fucked a stranger.

So I feel fantastic for all the wrong reasons. I fucking HATE cPTSD.

Hi! Through a series of very unfortunate events, I'm kinda forced to uproot my life and my daughter's life. We're Greensboro bound later today. By tomorrow, I'll be there.

I'm from Mansfield PA. We have a university and limited fast food - That's it.

I spend time over in Wellsboro as well. They have thrifting, antiquing, a diner - That's it.

I'm terrified. I know nothing about where I'm going and other than the family I'm moving in with, I know ONE guy down there. This wasn't really a choice, this was more of my friend and his wife staging a rescue mission since my life has fallen to pieces.

Hype me up? What do you love about Greensboro?

Had my Versa 3 for about 3ish/4 years and out of the blue while at work the screen just fell off. I wasn't mad, little bugger treated me well the whole time. Went to amazon on my lunch break and grabbed a Versa 4, was positively shocked that it was only $130 with 6 left in stock. Clicked Buy Now and thought nothing of it.

Turns out that all happened the DAY BEFORE google took over completely. Had to have been why it was so cheap. Probably got one of the last fitbit branded versa 4's.

Anyway, app switches over and I see all these posts flooding in about sleep tracking being garbage, the app being garbage, blah blah blah...

Y'all - I've had ZERO problems. Couldn't tell you why or how, but everything is working the same as it always did and I get the added benefit of taking calls on my wrist - and I feel like it's because I have a non-google product on my arm.

Just thought it was funny.

I'm two months post-op. Diet stayed relatively normal aside from hot dogs and apple juice no longer being safe. No crazy bathroom issues, just gas and bloating - gasX has been a life saver (thank you to everyone on this sub that mentioned it before my surgery). But I had a question about what I call The Brick.

When I eat, just under where my gallbladder used to be, I feel like a brick has grown inside my body. That spot gets tough and rigid and takes hours to calm down. The heft of it is excruciating. I've noticed taking ox bile supplements helps keep the brick from forming, but it still arrives regardless with larger/normal sized meals so I do a lot of grazing instead.

Anybody know what's happening here?

I had surgery.

Husband left me the next day.

Had a psychotic break that night.

Made an attempt on myself. 8th time. He was there. Didn't try to stop me.

Got back from the ER and made him pack instead of letting him drag things out.

Talked to an old boss/friend of mine.

He knows I can afford things here on my own. (I'm disabled) He offered to move my daughter and myself in with his family and we accepted. Didn't really have a choice.

Dog died of a broken heart (stopped eating when he left) the morning of my daughter's graduation.

Sold the trailer I've owned and raised my kid in for 16 years.

Been packing to distract myself these 2 months.

Everything is packed and ready. I have today to chill and the uhaul comes tomorrow.

I'm about to start over at almost 40 years old, states away, with my daughter in tow, with next to nothing to my name.

I'm terrified. I'm freaking out. I feel like I'm going to implode.

Say anything - Please. Bonus points for humor. Laughing helps me a lot.

You were 9 years old. You would have been 10 this October.

A month ago, Daddy left us. Truly (and I mean this) he left me. I know that you and Tiny Hooman think that he left all of us, but this wasn't either of your faults. He wasn't tired of you, baby. He wasn't mad at the Tiny Hooman. He just couldn't put up with Mama anymore. I have been so distraught because I know the reasons, Tiny Hooman can barely understand why, and you... Oh Mol Mol, if only I could have made you understand.

You looked for him. You sniffed every corner of every room. You paced by his office. You tried to find his shoes. I gave you a sweater he left behind, unwashed, and you buried your nose in it and fell asleep instantly. I also had one of his sweaters those first couple of days and we cuddled with it together in bed. My arm over you, your paw on my chest, and a sweater between us.

He came to see you 3 times. Tiny Hooman wasn't home and he doesn't like Mama, so of course he came to see you, baby. He walked through the door and your stubby lil tail went crazy. But each time he came he took more of his smell with him and didn't stay long enough to leave any behind. And you still looked for him - between each visit you kept searching.

After the last visit, you took his side of the bed. He told you countless times over the last decade to scooch down, to get off his pillow, "up up Mol Mol..." And somehow you knew he wasn't going to ask you to move anymore. He wasn't going to lay there ever again.

You weren't eating enough, but maybe you liked that. I noticed after the first week that I didn't fill the feeder - but it was still mostly full. I gave you every scrap and last bite I had. I mixed any liquid items with your food, and I know you LOVED when there was gravy in there. Every day became a bread-butt day. Every dinner had a small portion set aside for you. I just wanted you to eat something because I could feel it coming. I could see you shrinking. I lost over 20 pounds in 18 days, you just wanted to be like Mama, huh? Molly Baby, I wish I could have made you eat more. I wish I could have told you it would be ok in a way you'd understand.

A week ago you started scaring me. You stayed buried in your chair every day, and when you did move around you were exploring spots you used to ignore. Oh Bee Bee, when you laid between the coffee table and the couch, you weren't in trouble when I made you move. I said to you, "No no, Bee Bee. We aren't doing that. We aren't picking a weird spot today." Because a part of me knew. Something deep inside me knew what you were trying to decide.

You stopped cuddling my shoes. I only had to fill your water jug once this week. You didn't sit on the porch anymore, you started sitting on the dirt patch in the yard and just sniffed the air. You could only muster going to get your frisbee twice before needing a rest. Your face used to be excited when you saw me, now you just looked tired. I had to help you up onto the bed more. I had to encourage you to even come to bed. You never slept in the living room alone, and all the sudden you wanted to.

The house was so empty by now that the only real mess was fuzzy alpaca, pickle, lick-ball, ball ball, bone. I was always so impressed that you knew your toys by name. But you started to ignore them. You were even sparing Pickle of your wrath. You didn't bring Fuzz Alpaca to bed anymore. I used to tell you to stop being so loud with Bone, and now I'd kill to hear the booming crunch resonating into the floor.

I gave your last pain pill on Wednesday. Planned to call the vet for more on Monday. You were limping so I felt like you needed it. I rubbed your legs that night and told you I knew all the boxes were weird, but soon you'd know why. I told you about all the smells, told you what a beach was and told you about the earthy hot-wet-stone scent of sand. Told you we'd be going some place that was stress free with plenty of room to walk. We slept back against back that night. You were on my side of the bed instead of his.

Thursday morning we took a walk. You wanted to go so far. Every time I turned back to the house, you looked ahead and looked back at me like we'd make it to a beach if we just pressed on. And now I know we should have. You needed me to put you on the bed that night. Even your little step wasn't helpful enough. I had to lift you up like the puppy you've always been.

Today - -

You didn't stretch out your back while reaching across my legs when I woke up.

I couldn't place a hand on you to steady myself after sitting up in bed.

You didn't look at me for the go-ahead to hop down and head to the back door.

I didn't have to reach over you to throw away my coffee pod.

You didn't come running to the sound of the bread bag for a bread butt.

I didn't turn the heating pad on for you because you didn't ball up behind me while I checked emails.

You didn't give me a smooch when I bent down to grab my slippers.

I didn't see my little creeper peeking into the bathroom while I got a shower.

You didn't bring me Ball Ball or Alpaca to tell me I'd scrolled reddit for too long.

I didn't need to refit your blanket to your chair of fix your Reserved For The Dog pillow.

You won't climb up on the coffee table to finish what's left in my mug when my back is turned.

I wasn't able to eat your ear and kiss you on the head while reaching down to take my slippers off.

You aren't here to put your paw on my chest and tell me secrets and sniff the tears off my cheeks.

I can't tell you how much I love you. Because you're not here. Where'd you go, Molly?

It is 5:38am

I woke up an hour ago to find my dog, Molly, dead in the hallway outside my room

She was nearly ten and my ex husband left us (me, daughter, molly) a month ago

it was a lot of stress for an old-ish dog

she was in bed with me last night cuddling, everything seemed fine

my kid graduates today and i dont knwo what to tell her when she wakes up

i'd like a song, not country please

any song with the name molly that isnt about drugs or a song about losing a dog

weird ask but i need something im fucking shaking

Y'all. Their adulthood starts on fucking SATURDAY.

She was my baby. Her father left a year in after becoming abusive. She was MY baby.

She was my toddler. We moved many times and I struggled so much financially. She was MY toddler.

She was my child. I met my second husband when she was 6. She was OUR child.

They were our teenager. We never got ahead of finances in this town. Stressors were high. Jobs were scarce and grossly underpaid. Covid. High School. Economy got worse. Institutionalization for 2 weeks because genetics were even harder on Them. They were OUR teenager.

They were an adult. Husband left me. Left us. We have to move out of a place they've called home for 15 years to survive. They graduate on Saturday. They are AN adult.

Fuck. What a ride.

Imagine hurting someone...

Not emotionally - Imagine you cut someone. Deliberately. Slowly. Methodically. And as you dragged the blade, you just calmly reassured them that it was necessary and they'd be fine if they just trust you.

As you trace a line deeply within that person, you feel accomplished. It washes over you like a cool summer rain. Droplets dancing off the puddles below, up onto your calves. The upward and downward flow of energy quite literally centering you into your core. The icy water helping you find your natural warmth. You've never been so aware of it until just now... And it feels right.

As you carve away at the layers of understanding and forgiveness within that person - a person of seemingly never ending patience - you know you can go on forever. You decide that this is how it should be, how it was meant to be, that this was owed to you. Sure, they may say it hurts, but they always do. They may squirm and try to insist you at least take a break from inflicting so much pain, but their opinion doesn't matter. This is for you. It was always meant to be for you.

When inflicting such a wound starts to bore you, you play a new game. You step back and wipe off the knife. You silently wash it and put it back like it was only ever meant to break bread. It was only ever meant to help nourish and facilitate ease. It is a tool after all.

And then you turn, you see the wound open and dripping in earnest. A wound on a person who always trusted you to stitch them up... and you walk away.

They follow you. Annoying, no? They have a needle and thread in their hands. They beg. They plead. They instruct. They do everything they can to help you understand that they need the help you always promised them - the help you showed them in scraps of increments to keep them believing it would always be there. An empty fire extinguisher locked in a glass case to create the illusion of safety. A life preserver permanently affixed to the dock for decoration rather than function.

You finally turn and face them and say, "That's your mess. Not mine."

When they respond with shock, tears, screams, protest, anger, sorrow - you tell them not to worry. Time heals all and their strength will prevail.

Their slumped shoulders deepen. Their breath more shallow. Their fervor becomes a timid whisper. The scars from all of their prior cuts and burns glow brighter as the blood drains and rushes to the fresh carnage. Their cries become a raspy sigh into the wind. The wound is slowly beginning to congeal and infect.

But no, it's not your problem. If this isn't what they wanted, why did they allow you to slice them open in the first place?

...Can't imagine it? Neither could I.

I found my father's wedding band.

14 Karats. Gold. Plain. Thin.

I recognized it by the scratches and the distinct amber corn color. I inspected it carefully and found my grandparents had it engraved when they got married in 1948. CS and SJK. Catherine and Stephen J. I wasn't just holding a wedding band that belonged to my late father, I was holding a family heirloom. I didn't know I had one until today...

This wedding band sat on my dad's finger for so long. Even after his divorce. I can only imagine how long it sat on his father's finger. Stephen J died alone, losing Catherine to a cancer I was not privileged enough to be told about. Stephen P, my father, died alone because he was notoriously difficult to love. And I sit here alone... For the first time in 11 years. Middle aged, blindsided, and depressed. I'm staring at my dad's wedding band that fits me perfectly - and I wish I had inherited his mother's cancer instead.

My dad died alone. He only had a handful of important relationships and one marriage. Towards the end a nice grocery store cashier had been slightly flirty with him twice and I saw the hope in his eyes when he told me about her - she was half his age and he just wanted to feel love again. He was close with a woman his whole life, a little more than a best friend. They'd had secret trysts and AM phone calls since he was in his late 20s, but they were never meant to be. She sent my child Christmas gifts for 3 years after he died, but she couldn't explain to her husband why she wanted to go to the funeral, so she didn't come. He died alone. He died so incredibly alone. All because he was hard to love.

And here I am, holding his ring. Two failed attempts at marriage. My day made when a random cashier shows me some kindness. Talking to a friend that's been a little more than a friend in the past that I've known since my early 20s for comfort. Maybe he'll send my daughter a Christmas gift when I'm gone some day.

Because I am also notoriously difficult to love. I'm dismantling a life I can't have piece by piece, shelf by shelf, drawer by drawer... But at least I found my father's wedding band.

14 Karats. Gold. Plain. Thin.

And it fits.

THERE ARE 6 PLAYLISTS IN TOTAL WITH THE FIRST (For Whom The Bell Tolls - It starts with heartache*)* ONE IN THE POST LINK -

These are meant to be listened to in this order, it's an emotional journey, not a shuffle worthy session.

ENJOY - The other five are listed in order here:

It Tolls For Thee (then you feel anger) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/38wEOSkA5bapi8AvJiNoV7?si=d130cba55a244801

Almost 40 and Moody (then you remember your anger from a more youthful time) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7KOl2GSdeUDeiOLZUtuFWw?si=0644705051214bb1

Cracks In The Mirror (then your heart breaks for YOU because you're alone again) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2RBH6LShLHrBaRol1tgqlc?si=f80d79b909814de4

Happily Unhinged (then you embrace the crazy side and have a good laugh) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3uvxVprQ3KbodVn3uEyUVX?si=cfaa48e08a6c4b4f

Time For Another Round (and finally you remind yourself you have to keep going) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5gRUBfps4mru9YbngVADdi?si=d69ed4384ce24a2d

Your therapist ever tell you to visualize "packing the memory up" and "sending it away" until you're strong enough or healed enough deal with it?

My therapist tried this with me and she asked what I was seeing. Told her I put it in a box. She asked how it'd be sent away. I said on a delivery truck. She told me to picture the delivery truck disappearing into the distance.

I said to her, "Ok, how long till it circles the block?"

My therapist also always (and I mean ALWAYS) says, "Think of what you can control."

Ma'am, if I had any sense of control, I wouldn't be in this mess, would I?

Edit: Re-reading this I get that what she means is I can control if I accept the delivery... But in that case - My CPTSD is an angry Amazon driver saying "Look I just get paid to deliver the package, I'm going to leave it on your porch, I don't care if you don't want it." Ya feel me?

HOWEVER -

Recent huge traumatic experience. No need to go into details, but part of it was my marriage of 11 years ending.

So... I packed it all up in a box. Literally. A big trunk with a lock and key was donated at work (thrift store). I took it home and packed up 11 years of trinkets, mementos, and photos. Even his sweater that still holds his smell. Piece by piece I filled the chest and after it was full, I put the lock on it and put the key away.

Doing this visualization for real was actually incredibly helpful. And in thinking of what I can control... I control when I decide to retrieve the key.

Figured I'd share in case anyone else struggles with the oddly performative and metaphorical techniques. Stay strong, yall.

I really like the bee-bop/carnival sound used in modern music. Trying to curate an unhinged playlist that kinda accepts that I'm not 100% and life is a struggle, but I want it to be fun.

Inspiration struck after hearing Voices In My Head by Liel Bar-Z and Benjamin Sturley
Another that comes to mind is The Fine Print by The Stupendium