A huge part of me is getting stuck in reflecting past good memories with an assortment of people i used to love/like. from the far reaches of the den that was my relationship with james, to the more recent dj lance. part of me thinks if i take james back as is, i'll feel enlightened somehow. then i wake the fuck up and realize i just miss familiarity....even with an asshole. that stupid part of me that thinks this and acknowledges it, wonders why i would consider letting someone who treated me and OUR kids like he did back into my life, after feeling so "enlightened" for having got rid of him in the first place, and a huge sense of strange jilted independence to not be bound to a man.
so i want company. i guess that's something everyone goes through, even when it's crazy scenarios like getting back with an ex you left, with good reason. hell, look at kenny. at least he's getting something out of that. but at what real risk do we allow ourselves to be attatched to such hopeless, and almost completely meaningless relationships set for doom????
like with dj lance, why couldn't i find the voice to tell him my true feelings. i wanted friendship. sex became awkward, quickly, for me anyways. i'm an adult. it should be dust in the wind to tell another adult my expectations and goals and how they didn't pertain to him. i can't keep letting myself fall for "security" and even with that in mind, james wasn't secure at all. not technically.....but thinking about it now, i realize he was my own little escape and "security" from my fucked up family.
i think and know a huge part of me loathes him not for the things he'd done, or said, or i expected to play out if w'd stayed together, but for leaving me feeling stranded and back needing the aid of MY FAMILY that i wanted to get away from and was willing to put through almost 4 years of an abusive relationship and a faltering steady drop of my own self esteem, to an alcoholic who was no good.
well....eh...the kids didn't deserve that either. but my PARENTS? does anyone deserve to have to spend their childhood with these psychos??? i always wanted to give them better then i had, and i don't mean money, or luxuries (OBVIOUSLY) but family values, and compassion and love and trust within relative means and know they didn't have to go out into a cruel world, looking for these things and hoping that they too like me once upon a time "would one day find someone who would rescue them from the fate of becoming one of these crazy, miserable expletive---parental units"
and look what i've done. i've condemned them to this because the man i gave my heart to would rather take that heart and drown it in a pitcher of beer before protecting it and cherishing the symbolism of it.
so that part that wonders if it would be easier to back with the asshole whose supposedly changed, and for the better, perhaps for the final time though i have my doubt, just cause he IS the father of my only kids, and it would save me 400 dollars on a fucking divorce cause we're married still anyways, and not have to worry about 'will i be alone for the ret of my life'......hates myself.
oh i cut myself nice and good the other day. does anyone read these things anymore? i hope not. this isn't stuff i want anyone to generally know or eer bring up to me. so if you find yourself reading this, this is a non-discussional topic. everything in this.
i'm just so fucking depressed with the trying to figure out where i want my life to go, and not even a matter of wanting, but things beyond my control. i feel kind of demented to admit that i don't hae normal fantasies....well i have those too. random characters i wish would enter my life and sweep me off my feet into little crazy unimportant stories, that make you realize you love someone. like stupid smiles or winks, or adventures. but i find myself wondering alot, what would happen, if i was suddenly involved in a tragedy that ended with my death. like who would cry the most, who would come to my funeral if there was one. and most of all....what would the final moments of my demise feel like. will i have 3 abrupt seconds before my heart or brain gives out, and total blackness. or will i be lying on some highway road in a pool of my own blood in a dream cascade of broken glass around me, dying slowly.
and most of all i hate the abrupt thought of "what about my kids" because that one line always awakens me back to the selflessness i've had to develop, or always had, whichever, to be a mom. i know i'd never kill myself, not even seriously depressed. i think i'd just become catatonic. i know my greater need to worry about how the world percieves me would always keep me in a state of some kind of functional sanity. my kids peering eyes staring at me, would keep me in a constant state of reality. reality that i loathe day after day again and again but force myself to face, with my chin up, my eyes narrowed, and my mouth closed. as i let my own personal feelings and hopes be murdered again and again.
someone shoot me please. preferrably in the head.