I have been praying to God for many, many years. For many, many things. When the sadness started creeping in, I prayed for help and when it got worse, and after I started asking for help, I prayed that someone would help me. It didn’t happen. Everyone asked what I needed and then when I couldn’t answer what it was I needed, the question was lost in a sea of hustle and bustle. I prayed for peace in knowing my biological father left me. That he didn’t want me even after he knew me. That peace, well I thought it came until my brother killed himself in November and the peace, well it wasn’t there anymore. I prayed to be a patient mother, I’ve prayed to be a good wife. I’ve prayed for God to help me to stay on a path of kindness and peace. I’ve failed at all. And I’ve never heard his voice once.
This Easter Sunday as I walked out of the church who spoke of new beginnings, I lost my faith in God and in myself. I will never, ever be the same. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. And, she’s probably right. No one, especially in that moment, loved me.
Last year was wrought with tragedy. In August when my period which is never late, was late, I popped up with a positive pregnancy test. Afraid of the judgment and comments, I sat quietly on it, hoping to enjoy our vacation the following week. And when I walked down the beach with my tiny almost 2-year-old in hand, I felt that gush and knew, I knew there would be nothing to tell and so, I didn’t. And I wept in the arms of my partner, then bled alone in the bathroom. Leaving my baby at the beach. He was due April 24th. I find great sadness in that I will never meet him.
October stole my friend. My Santa. A father and kind man. Out of the blue, his life stolen from us. The sadness and inability to understand why shook me to the core. I think of him every day. I think of his family, every.single.day. And as I stood in that auditorium taking the photos of no Santa, I prayed for peace. It still hasn’t come. And when the children’s leader had the gall to say to someone, when I was waffling with the idea of doing Santa again, that they would do it with or without me, I knew my value in that ministry was nothing more than the help. And my passion and love for the event meant nothing, as long as she got what she wanted. There will be no more Santa photos from me. And that charity has fallen away from my heart.
November took my brother. I can’t even tell you how he took his life, only that the pain of losing him is immeasurable. That my anxiety and my own hustle and bustle kept me from knowing him. And that the great sadness, that I often fear threatens my own self, took him, without warning and without hope. I see his face in mine sometimes. I’ve spent hours looking through the photos. I write him knowing he’ll never read it. I worry, that I will never, ever see him again.
I watched my sister’s life destroyed in a web of lies and deceit. My beautiful and innocent niece’s life forever changed. I’ve watched so many lives just crumble. Trying to keep it in perspective, I’ve shut down my feelings of drowning, trying to thank “god” that it wasn’t worse. And then, it just got so much worse.
In six weeks I have moved from being a silent victim, to a rage-filled person. In one week, I let passive, nastiness get to me and I have called names and said things I never ever thought would come out of my mouth. And yesterday, when provoked with the threats of posting photos of my children and a snide “hi” followed by “do you have something to say to me” after not so pleasant eye contact, I flew off the handle and I pushed a person, at a church and followed it up with a nasty curse word, on Easter Sunday. And it was made very clear that I wasn’t wanted there and that my sin, unforgivable, as the ‘punishment” was handed out of me in the verbal lashing for a nasty mistake. The day was full of police, 911 calls and locked doors. And what I learned? The police can do nothing if a person drives by your house or shows up at your job. That people can post whatever they want on the internet; personal photos, texts. They can lie and delete and argue. They can do anything and it if is not a threat, only the person who lays hands is in trouble. Unfortunately in this incident, that was me. In a desperate attempt to get this person out of the spotlight, I put myself in a terrible position. And the people in the front of the building, rightfully so, screaming at me, sealed that I will never, in this lifetime, set foot in a church to worship and I will likely, never pray for anything again.
When this all started, I sat silently and watched the shit show twitter parade and read the forum posts filled with lies. I tried to hide the emotions when I found out this person had been inside my home, I tried to go about my life as though I wasn’t scared and angry and alone. It didn’t work. They stole the peace I felt inside that room, then stole the happy from my Disney trip. And when the therapist said it was okay not to hide, I stopped and when the tweet eerily resembled responses to my own posts, I let them have it. Replying to the nasty, passive tweets, exposing the truth on the forums. Because if they can say whatever they want online, why can’t I?
The thing I forgot was it isn’t that I can’t, it’s that I shouldn’t.
My moral compass is off track these days too.
I’ve sent messages to most of the people I knew were involved. One young man, who’d while working with him, had inappropriate comments with my daughter, and lied to me and others over and over, got an ear full. He’s never responded, except once, to tell me to calm down. And then quickly walked into a building, instead of sharing “his side” and when he continued to pursue my child, after I told him not to and after his employer did as well, he through a mutual friend, attempted to relay to her, that he was indeed “there for her” and “was around if he needed to talk”. He had recent trouble, and instead of owning his own mistakes, he blamed me too.
I am the monster here after all.
At the very least, three other people knew since summer and no one told. I’m truly and deeply worried about the generations taking over the world. I am thinking whoever is in charge forgot to pass out the manual on moral obligations. I think that when things are hard, it’s easier to lie and hide. It’s sad. I’m a truther as they say; look where it’s got me though? Maybe these people are onto something.
So many people could have prevented the sheer amount of heartache this has been. A single, albeit difficult, conversation could have prevented a good majority of this. It could have stopped it before it started.
And what do I want? I just wanted an apology and the opportunity to say, “you hurt me. You could’ve stopped this.” Instead I get radio silence and a brutal, passive online attack. And I attacked back, with force. I’m not proud of that. It’s one of those things I will likely beat myself up for, for years.
Yesterday I deleted some 4000 tweets. My entire Twitter history and I am waffling with the idea of permanently deleting my Instagram. Logging into and thinking that this person is knowingly, and legally posting photos of my children, for some reason, makes me physically ill. I know in my logical brain that they are not hurting them but that they have these photos makes me sick. Physically sick. The worst part of it is I don’t know who to trust anyway. When this person was removed as a follower, they still managed to view everything I was posting on my then private account. I don’t know how or through whom but they saw. Making fun of our service night, something I’ve been doing for years… something I’d only posted on my private Instagram. I know I need to go completely offline but, the unfortunately reality of my mental illness, is that I built most of my friendships online, and I am not sure that if without them, I will make it out of this as an intact, sane person. 6 weeks and I am desperately missing being able to log in and see their lives. Or know how the cancer treatment is going or how the kids are growing, without a series of text messages. And my phone, with each vibration, I want to throw it out the window. It’s been sitting in the window. I have been turning it off. The catalyst to that? The awesome Happy Easter from the “father” who walked away from me. Ain’t that the shits.
I don’t know what to do anymore. I just don’t. I got out of the car yesterday and headed towards the baseball field. My legs couldn’t carry me and I sobbed between the box offices at the field I spend so many happy lacrosse hours at. I just wanted to sit in the dug out and imagine my sons playing. The truth is, I couldn’t see the future. I am still struggling to see it. When the police officer I had called showed up at my steps last night and asked if I needed him to take me to the crisis center, my heart screamed yes but my head and mouth said no, because I’m so afraid that I’ll go in and they’ll never, ever let me back out. Words like “unlovable” and “monster” seeped out of my mouth yesterday. Phrases like “this is all my fault” and “I am afraid of myself”. The sad is scary. And the silence after the prayers is so unsettling, that I am done.
I have been seeing a therapist for about a month now. She had blue hair; a clock and fawn tattooed on her arm. She gives me permissions I can’t give myself. And despite being made fun of for having this mental defect, and this sad, I think therapy is important and needed. I wish other people would try it. Maybe they’d see they are not the victim but the creator and while their heartache isn’t discountable, these feeling were created in choices.
I just don’t think praying anything away works. And if there is a God, he cannot hear me. And I am done asking for his help. And please, for the love of everything, stop saying you’re praying for me.