Anonymous said: Why do you think it's your job to tell the entire world of Joe's fuck ups? That's the father of your children, do you have no respect for him? Do you think anyone is ever going to have faith in your judgement after all of his bullshit? Have some decentcy for yourself, and moreover, your family.
I’m laughing. At you.
Did you wait for me to switch anon on to say this? Pathetic.
I say what I feel, and I write what I want, because speaking the truth is the only way to heal; him, his children and myself.
I tell this story because it’s my story too.
Go and talk to him about respect. Do you think his behaviour is respectful towards us? Or himself? Do you think it helps him, brushing his problem under a rug and hiding it from the world?
Everything I say and do, is said and done for a specific purpose.
I don’t just vent and ramble hateful, nasty shit about him. I’m tactful, mindful and very much entitled to voice every word I speak and type.
I was speaking soft, see the pain in your eyes,
I’ve been feeling, feeling for you, my love.
And our bodies are tired, our shadows will dance,
I’ve been aching, aching for you, my love.
Jungle - Emma Louise.
Playing Before Bed.
Zero regrets about having my kids pretty much back to back. Check them out, self-entertaining. Most of the time I just sit there and supervise.
All is good and well, until one of them smacks the other one out with a wooden block. Or they team up and work together against me, stealing snacks from the cupboard or letting the dog out the minute I sit down to go to the bloody toilet.
“Tyson free Mum! He runned away!”
Do have my work cut our for me, would not have it any other way.
Let the good times roll.
The other day, we went to buy Noah some new shoes.
We walked into the shoe store and the shop assistant asked if I’d like to have Noah fitted and if she could suggest some shoes for him.
I agreed and asked Noah if he wanted to have his feet measured, “Okay Mum!” he piped up. He sat up on the seat and said, “I’m ready lady!” to the shop assistant. She laughed, and started asking him questions.
How big are your feet Noah?
Do you run around a lot?
“Yeah, really fast!”
Do you like laces or velcro?
“I like zips”
Okay, black or brown?
How do they feel?
“Pretty good, thanks lady!”
You’re welcome Noah
“I’m going for a coffee now, bye!”
She fitted him with his first proper sneakers, and she congratulated me on having such a well mannered and clever little boy.
He ended up choosing brown lace up sneakers, with zips on the side.
“So I can do it myself Mum”
Then we went and had coffee. I watched him make his Gingerbread man walk across the table towards his Bubacino, where he dipped his “Gingy Mans” into the froth, and then proceeded to eat him legs, first while he looked around, chatting idly to me about the people walking by.
What a champ. I am pretty proud of him.
Earlier I walked in on Noah trying to put a tampon in. Alarmed, I ask him what he was doing, and he swiftly replied, “I put this in like you Mum… But it won’t fit…”
Oh my god. This kid.
They are growing so quickly, time has literally dissolved in between my fingers.
Look at them, they are just; mine.
This week I remind myself, that it is ok to let go and break down.
It is totally ok, to not be ok.
Being strong takes a mammoth effort initially, but once you get into the momentum you stay pretty strong. Which is great. That’s what you do, you kick into survival mode and carry on.
But it’s easy to allow yourself to fly too high, and unknowingly maintain that level of constantly moving coping mechanisms, to the point of not realising you need to stop and cry.
You need to feel the ache, and acknowledge that you’re hurting. That’s what you do, as a human being. You feel that hurt, you end up hurt and you sometimes hurt others.
Because we are soft, we are flesh and blood, and we bruise. We split, and we graze ourselves, we get cut open and we cut ourselves open, then we heal and we carry on with the scars.
If you bandage up a wound too tightly, it festers and eats away at you. Flesh dies and infection spreads.
Wounds needs to breathe, in order to heal.
Things don’t have to be positive and wonderful all the time, you don’t have to always cope and it is perfectly fine to sit on the floor and cry.
On Monday I came home from work, I had a particularly shitful day and stressful night. I finished at 6pm, it had been raining. My clothes had been damp all day and my body was fucking exhausted.
We all got home at 6:20pm. The kids were hungry, tired and really angry. I got to spend twenty minutes with them before they both went to bed.
Twenty minutes of which, I loathed and counted down because I really wanted to drink myself into a coma and not have to be a Mum straight after work.
That was so wrong, feeling resentful of having to be around my own kids after not seeing them all day.
I put them to bed.
Then, I was alone.
Which felt even worse.
I sat on the floor, and I felt proper sorry for myself for the first time in months. Sorry for me, not Joe. Not the kids, not Joe’s family, or our dog.
Sorry for me, because I’m allowed to.
The tears spilled over, and I couldn’t stop them. I tried for a brief moment, to pull myself together. I couldn’t do it.
So fuck it, I just wailed. Loudly, and I tore my fingernails into my rug, into my skin and I hit myself, and I cried, into my knees. It was quite a dramatic performance really.
Then I crawled into bed, still wearing my damp work uniform and cried myself to sleep.
Because my life isn’t fair, and I am tired, and scared; and I worry so much about Joe that it consumes me. My chest constantly hurts, with anxiety. Every day I pray that today isn’t the day I get called to be told he’s overdosed and he’s fucking dead, or that he’s hurt himself, or he has hurt someone else, or is in prison.
I don’t know where he is. We go weeks without speaking. That, kills me. He was my best friend, and my instinct is to curl into him when I hurt. But I can’t because he is the hurt. Despite that, I still panic about how he is eating, where is he sleeping, forever begging The Universe to keep him safe.
When I hear from him now, it’s only because he wants something from me. He’s hostile and withdrawn. He’s never available when I need him.
It hurts that when I need him the most, he’s not there for me. That I’m stressed and afraid, I just need him to listen to me cry and for him to see how much I am hurting.
Then I realise, I can not expect anything from him anymore. Because he is not him. I can’t put that on him, he can’t handle my emotional pain on top of his own pain; or lack of. He’s vulnerable, and unable to process anything without raging and losing it.
That hurts even more, that I’ve had to drop my expectation levels of him, to that of an unstable stranger.
When here I am, with his two beautiful babies, under my wing. I don’t want to insult him like that, I don’t want him to know that I feel so closed off towards him.
It was a self-defence mechanism. I closed off everything, in order to function and continue on with life. But who wants to do that? I love being an emotional person. I love that about myself, that I have big feelings.
So I cried, for all of that. All of that, fell out of the cold storage part of my brain and into the “time to get your ugly cry on” processing part of my brain.
When I woke the next day, I didn’t feel any better. I swore at my slept in, creased uniform, I plastered on new make-up over yesterdays cosmetic debris.
My face was puffy and I still had nine hours of work ahead of me. The kids wanted breakfast, Noah lost a shoe, we got in the car and we started the day all over.
I slogged out another difficult day of driving and bullshit, I finished at 6pm, picked up the kids and I came home, put the kids to bed and I cried, again.
The next day, I woke and felt better. Not monumentally better, but still better. I showered, and smiled at myself in the mirror. Today I will spend the day on the floor with my kids, I said.
Fuck errands and housework.
I need a rest day.
Which is what I did. I laughed instead of crying.
They laughed and come bedtime I didn’t cry. I ate dinner and felt better. I went to sleep, and things were better.
It’s ok to break down.
Crying is therapeutic and wounds need to weep and then breathe, in order to heal.
I will quickly add…
What the fuck happened to this site? It’s full of angry bitching and hate.
Even more so than there was before, it seems to be getting worse.
I used to be so into Tumblr. I think I need to unfollow everyone and start over, I barely even talk to anyone anymore and that makes me sad.
I can’t keep up with you all.
I miss you guys.
I feel as if I have completely dropped off the radar here…
I just don’t have much decent stuff going on right now and I don’t see the point in posting all my sad shit.
Stupid Joe, is stupid. Work is whatever and the kids are driving me nuts.
Will resume blogging, very soon. Will answer all my inbox messages too.
I’m sorry, shittest blogger ever.
I promise, be back soon.
Because I don’t want to take a handful of Noah’s chewed up grape skins, and because I won’t let Matilda chew the small buttons off the television remote and choke…
I looked over at him and this was the face he was pulling. After a minute or two of this, I asked what was wrong and he replied, “I’m winking Mum…”