On losing my faith

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.

 

 

 

 

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

I am human and I am here

My world came crashing down a little over a month ago. It was the prolific implosion of pain and hurt and sad and angry and everything in between and had, no has literally brought me to my knees. Painfully so, to the point, the bruises seems as though they will be there forever. Inwardly they will be. Outward, I do a pretty good job of hiding 80% of the pain. Until there is wine of course. Then it’s either sad or angry and often both, at the same time and with a ferocity that makes me not recognize myself. But the wine helps me sleep when the medicine and the melatonin fail. And I am sadder and scarier without a few good hours of rest.

I am not ready to talk about why. I may never be. I spend enough time in the apparently “shameful” therapist’s office now, that I know it doesn’t need to be put here. This month I’ve learned better than I ever thought I could, that social media is a fucking nightmare and people, often under the guise of Christianity, are evil and terrible and mean. That in one moment they can quote Psalms and in the next to make fun of how someone looks, or that they seek help or insult that they perhaps are the actual victim in this scenario.

I have learned that people reach out to you often not because they want to take care of you or love you but because they are dying to know the story. I’ve never cringed so much at the sight of the words “I am praying for you”, in my entire life. The pity looks are almost worse though. “You poor thing”, their eyes read. As if I am some starving African child. Don’t pity me. Treat me as you always have. The pity face makes me feel inhuman.

But I have also learned that people will drive hundreds of miles to keep you from the doors of destruction. That they will bring you groceries and text you through the middle of the night and that they won’t judge you or feel hurt that you’ve become so disconnected that you don’t know a single thing that is going on in their lives. Those people who truly know the meaning of love and community will rush to your rescue when the insanity makes you fear for your safety. They will call the police when the words are too hard to force out of my own mouth, those words will come out of theirs. They will take record of the cruelty and deception. They will fiercely fight for you when you don’t have the strength. They will make sure that you have what you need to go on when you’re not sure you can. I have learned that despite the demons in my head, people care about me and have always, I was just so blind in self-depreciation, that I couldn’t see that there was love all around me. For the most part, that makes the hurt, hurt a little less.

My baby turned 5 this last month. My nephew born. I have been married now 17 years; I have spent nearly half my life with the same person. I enrolled in the doula certification course; of course I can’t even get through the manual but it’s self-paced, thank God. In the past month, I’ve found my voice, bravery and realized my tenacity is fierce. I’ve decided my soul is starving and this horrible, implosion is the kick in the ass I needed to be brave again. I walked into a church for the first time in many years, my heart fully open to Him. I walked in that same church fully prepared to “say it to your face”. I did not sneak in a back door. I did not make a scene. I made it clear that I am human and I am here.

I’d thought long and hard about deleting this blog. Knowing that the catalyst to this insanity has been reading it for close to a year I believe. That they used my words to create this monster that I am not. They used my anxiety and depression and the desire to share and heal other people as a tool to help build this lie that they had a right to hurt people; that they deserved something. No one deserves anything. Especially when you’ve attempted to earn it with lies, deceit, and cruelty. I know you are there, I know you are reading. And I am here, I am human and I am not hiding anymore.

 

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

This song reminds me of you….

10175063_793742077349631_3317996618424081003_nI enjoy the quiet. Very much. When I was a younger person, I’d spent some time in a hospital that was supposed to help me. Mostly it taught me the value of quiet. It taught me to love the misfit. I remember walking back into my house for the first time and distinctly realizing, it would never be that quiet again. Now, I have five children. Four of them boys. It’s almost never quiet and my brain almost never rests. I fill it with music hoping that the loud won’t push me over. It does until it reminds me of something. Like my brother who took his life this November or my friend, who was my Santa, who died far too soon. It reminds me of things I can’t talk about and things I don’t want to talk about anymore.

Kevin, my brother, lost his fight November 12th. He and I had just really sort of rekindled a relationship in the last couple years and only online. He was born after my parents divorced and is my half-brother. I’d only known him briefly as a child although I remember both he and my brother, Sam, fondly and often. I still can clearly see their little faces running through the house or car track. But Nyle, our father, built a wall between us. One I didn’t realize was there until many, many years later. I often think about what might have been, had he not bought all those bricks.

Kevin sort of looked like Matthew. He wrote like he was mature beyond his years. He drew lovely things and loved his children fiercely. And his wife. He loved her so very, very much. He loves her now and always. I like to think he loved me too. He wanted a family. He wanted Matthew and I in it.

He messaged me the Tuesday before we lost him. I didn’t make time to message him back. Gotta go and vote; I cannot make myself talk on the phone tonight. And then, I just forgot in the craziness of the election. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that. It will be very hard to let go of that regret.

I think about him every day. I check his wall. Check in on his wife. His mother. Hindsight makes me wish I’d of done it before now. Instead, I look in on a life that I honestly didn’t know anything about. It’s a too late moment; every single day. The too lates about kill me. I see Batman, too late. I stumbled on photos, too late. Timehop mornings, too late. It’s one of those lessons you hear but don’t know until it really is too late.

I pray he’s with God now. Without pain, happy. That he can hear my “I’m sorry” and watch down on his family. I am sure what I feel doesn’t even touch the surface of how his wife, his mother, his children feel. He was my brother. He is my brother.

Rest in peace, Kevin.

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.