This is my life.

It's time to get real, I'm tired.  I don't want to keep these secrets anymore.

You might be a bit confused.  Trust me, it isn't easy to follow.  This will be full of ranting, raving, and TMI, but it's about time I finally write it all down.  I simply want people to understand.

And for today, just today- the world can go to hell.

I need this- I'm going back to bed.

Let's start from the beginning of the day.  I disappointed myself through my dreams- eh, it happens to everyone.  As I left the house, I started to feel better.  It's a cool day, sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky.  I checked my bank statement and knew that it would be a tough month.  I'm not sure what day I'm being paid on- but I get paid monthly.  So, drawing out half of the money I own, I went to go to my new apartment.

Driving to the bank, I missed the turn in because the center lane was closed and I got distracted.  I had to drive like an idiot to get turned around.  Once there, the man at the bank was nice, there wasn't a line.  Everything went smoothly.  I went to go to the loan store (they're the only ones that give free money orders- the bank is $5 each).  There was only one person in line in front of me and he was literally arguing with the three people trying to help him.  Finally, one opened a new line and took the guy in front of me and then me. He annoyed me by trying to sell me some expensive pen.  He urged that normal pens can be scratched off.  'People try it all the time, but if you get this pen, the ink soaks into the paper and can't be erased'...  It's called a marker, moron.

So I went to the apartment.  Entering the office, I sat down with Kristina- my apartment person.  She gave me some info, had me sign some community (not lease forms).  A man comes in behind me.  I can't tell if he lives there or not.  Kristina greets him and asks how he's doing.  He looks at her and says, "not well, my neighbor just died". So I couldn't really figure out if he was trying to move here because his neighbor just died or if he did live there and wanted to tell her the neighbor just died.  I finished filling out the stupid community form stating I wouldn't play instruments in the apartment (really), I would only park my motorcycle and car in my designated spots, I wouldn't store paint,etc.  The guy then said that this was a nice place to live.  Mind you, he looked like he was out on parol and tatted up on every inch of skin I could see.  I then learned the guy that died was my next door neighbor.  What fun.

Kristina handed me the lease and showed me all the highlighted places where I needed to sign.  I told her I wouldn't sign anything til I saw it.  So we walked to the far back of the property to where my (hopefully) quiet little space will be.  She took me to the wrong apartment first and was confused momentarily.  There were people living in both.  As we walked to the real one- we noticed that someone was now parked illegally in my spot (you only get one) so even if I brought my car back- there was no where to park it.  Joy.  She told me it would take hours, if not a day, to have it removed.  When we got into the apartment, the first thing I noticed was that the counter had scorch marks, the kitchen light was hanging down, and the cabinets were slightly crooked.  On closer inspection, the fridge was full of brown goo, the dishwasher was dirty and had a child's barrette in the bottom, and there were multiple urine stains on the carpet.  The place was a joke.  On the way back, she called her boss, complained the on-call person wasn't answering, and stopped to talk to the maintenance guy who argued that the place was fine and that I was just a complainer (I do know some spanish, ok).  The manager wasn't there (she was supposed to be- she called in on Friday after promising me she would be there late so I could start move in that day- bull).  We went back to the office where she tried to talk me into another apartment.  I don't qualify for any money back.  The electricity is already on and in my name for that apartment.  What a mess.  According to Kristina through the lovely broken cell phone conversation she had with her boss.  She promised to fix it in some way and her boss would call me next week.  The apartment should be ready this afternoon (no way that counter was going to be fixed that afternoon, puh leeze) if I wanted to wait.  For one, that's a lie- bitch, there's no way I'm going to believe ANYTHING you tell me now, two, there's a dick parked in my spot and everywhere else is illegal- I just signed that form.  With police everywhere and the coroner on the way, I wouldn't dare take that chance.  So I explained I had a conference in Arlington that I was missing because of this crap (truth) and that I only had the morning to do it.  She went into this spiel about how her name was on the line, she's embarrassed, now she feels bad, she prides herself on being the best, and apologized- all while smiling.  I understand smiling is a coping mechanism- but do you know what happens when I don't do my job?  Someone dies, someone gets sick, or someone tries to sue for fraudulent information.  Her job?  I walk away angry and move in next week.  This is the 4th time this has happened.  I'm hating the world currently....

Driving back to the hotel, it hit me and I knew that it has gotten to a point I should write about it.

1. I know why my husband left me- I never told anyone really, but both of us know- and it was my fault.
2. I know how suicidal people think, what they feel, what they know.

Why?

Because I am.  I live with it everyday.  It is a struggle I've had since I was a SINGLE DIGIT CHILD.  I remember as a teen going across my beautiful, sweet baptism journal.  The front was full of good wishes, people sharing wonderful experiences, friends writing their names poorly because we were afterall- 8.  A few pages in, I wrote that I was 'bammtised on October 16, 1994' with a smiley- so freakin proud.  A few more pages in, I wrote "sometimes I'm really sad, I want to die, hal cum?"  I even remember writing on the very last page (back inside cover) that I was worthless and good for nothing.  A few pages behind the prior entry I wrote that I was stupid, worthless, useless, good for nothing.  I had crossed it out and re-dated with a small revision saying I was none of those things, but those feeling just don't dissipate.

I felt worthless since I was a child.  Worthlessness over an extended period of time leads to other methods and thought and things.....  I was 12 when I first tried committing suicide.  I was at school (same year I was diagnosed with high blood pressure)  It was English class- AP even (Ms. Lorenzetti).  Jenny Juricsisn (my valedictorian) had seen me take a handful of tylenol and told the teacher.  I was kept for lunch (right after class) with them and we talked.  I was referred to the counselor whom I lied to and then it was brushed off as not doing well with change.

Yeah, that was it, not doing well with change.  It had nothing to do with spending random nights away from home because my father would fly off the handle.  He would scare the living daylights out of us or because he would threaten to kill me.  Always me, never Stacey.  Stacey was so perfect.  He always wanted me to be just like her.  I had some qualities of Aunt Stephanie (the crazy one) that I guess I exhibited and if I were to ever be anything remotely close to her- he would kill me himself.  He told me all about his chef knives.  I even knew where they were.  He told me he could debone a cow- I wouldn't be much harder.  I also think the English event followed when my father had 1. threw me down because my mother and I had a fight about me going to a Christmas dance and 2- he kicked three holes outside my bedroom into the wall because we're just so gosh-darn frustrating.  We spent a week or so at Diana's for that.  There were many times Mom would just get so upset, she'd just leave me there.  I had quite a few conversations with Diana, Grandma, and some close friends when they were fighting, or when I was left alone.  I spent the night in the garage before.  I didn't come home a time or two.  I also contemplated jumping out my second story window- not for suicide, but simply to get away.  When I was really little, I would hide in my bedroom closet right behind the clothes.  There was bump thing there where the stairs were.  I would hide there until it would quiet down (spent quite a few nights sleeping there).  If I really needed to hide, I would put objects between the clothes and me and be directly up against the wall.  I fooled them a few times.

I even remember the first time, it was for a Christmas dance in Junior High.  Mom and I had a fight.  She had either left (common reaction for her) or was downstairs while he was upstairs in the office.  He came into my room while I was trying to leave.  He stood in my way and I tried to get around but couldn't.  He threw me down on the bed (in the green satin dress I made myself) and said something about how much mom does for me and how unthankful and what a brat I was.  Then it came, "the more you act like your aunt Stephanie the more ways I'll find to kill you".

Stacey over-involved herself in high school activities and so I never saw her.  We weren't very close anyway, something about being threatened all the time when we were together sort of ruined any chance we would have for any normal interactions.  She moved and left me alone.

Mom was always busy in stuff.  I don't remember her being around much.  I couldn't stand being at home, so I over involved myself in school activities in high school.  I could just barely handle it, but I made myself so busy I didn't have any friends.  I was always an outcast, always a loner and I never wanted to be.

My second major attempt was in HS.  I was a freshman.  It had to do with the guy I was dating.  It was a nightmare.  I denied every bit of it- and once again, it was dismissed as lies and crap.

I can't say I ever really stopped thinking about it.  Some times were harder than others.  Someone would die,  breakups etc.

I never really had the heart to do it.  I blame my heavenly siblings.  Mom mentioned Audrey when I was little.  She also mentioned all her miscarriages- and I couldn't bear to do it to her.  Not that I didn't think about it.

When I was 17, I got my Patriarchal blessing.  This is a special blessing that comes from a special 'Priest'- for lack of a better term.  You only get one in your lifetime.  It's supposed to be like a roadmap for you to follow.  It is literally supposed to be God himself talking to you.  It's supposed to be an amazing thing.  Well, my blessing had the wonderful phrase, "if you are worthy enough, you will be able to be saved with your parents in the celestial kingdom to be together for time and all eternity."  Oh hell.  Why the HELL would I want that?!

That destroyed me for nearly a year.  I lost almost all faith in my religion.  I would rather rot in hell than spend eternity with my parents.

It got even worse when Bridget landed me in trouble with my car (Sept/Oct 2004- Senior year).  There's nothing like court to get your parents to understand you.  My father always had a sense of responsibility to us children- we were afterall, his problems.  We were just viewed as something you waste your money on.  He didn't talk to me for nearly a full year.

Senior December (before I was sick), I don't even remember what happened.  Dad was upset at something. It was my senior Vesper's concert- a VERY big deal.  I was going to be soooooo busy because I was so blessed to be in nearly every performance.  I worked so freakin hard to be there.  I was in Symphony Orchestra, select Orchestra (2 of each instrument only), concert orchestra as a viola I made, part of a singing solo, Women's Octet (both singing and piano), Jazz Band (playing piano), Symphonic Band (cymbal), and women's choir, and Acapella.  I was the best of the best.  I was in the top of everything.  I remember walking into the house, Dad was sitting in the family room.  Time came to go.  Dad was still sitting there.  When we got home when it was over, the ticket had been ripped to bits.  Needless to say, I spent another night at my aunt's house...

At 18, I chose not to move away.  My grandfather had paid a lot and given me lifelong opportunities like studying in Eleuthera.  He wasn't doing too well since grandma passed.  I figured I owed it to him.  In February, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  April, I was hospitalized for my ovarian tumor.  I was told I was going to die.  At first, I was upset.  As time went on, I wanted to.  I welcomed death.  I had lived a good life- I studied abroad, I had pictured modeling, I was decently good at some stuff.  I really didn't think anyone would miss me, except maybe Grandpa and Mom.  Stacey was long gone, and I didn't have too much to do with the family except grandma and Diana.  It was heartbreaking for me to recover.  Now what was I supposed to do with myself?  Stacey went under martial law in Ecuador on her mission in May. She got her honorable discharge in December.  Also in December, Grandpa died.  Everyone was mad because grandpa died 2 days before Stacey's homecoming, why couldn't he just wait for her to say goodbye?  Meanwhile, I had juggled 26 credit hours and maintained a job to stay away from home.  I wasn't doing the best, but I didn't fail much either.  I slept at night on the bathroom floor at work (sorry) and sometimes in random parking lots in my car.  I really couldn't stand to be home.  I was worthless afterall.  I'm just a waste of money- Dad paying for my college classes cuz I couldn't- then how dare I fail one!

Probably another reason Stacey and I aren't close- it's a conditioned response.  Stacey came home from her mission, we buried Grandpa, I had my first college graduation (certificate) that people could care less about (I paid for the entire course myself too).  Us girls had decided to go shopping, and we were 'gone a little too long'.  When we got home, dad was irate.  He yelled at us for spending money, not spending any time with him, a few other things, then he stormed off.  He didn't come home for Christmas.  Mom was upset because she thought she was going to get divorced.  Stacey left to go to BYU, I left for Purdue.  We saw him for a brief moment before leaving, but that was about it- no explanation, no apology.  It's just sorta the way it went.  Dad would fly off the handle and everything would slowly just creep back to normal without anything really happening.  This also wasn't the first time we got in trouble for spending time together.  There's actually not a time I can think of that we didn't 'spend too much time together' in our childhood and not get in trouble.  Dad liked to be included, but didn't like spending money or people or any time in a car.  Everytime Stacey and I spent time together, he would get mad.  Well, we don't spend time together now- guess he shouldn't be mad, right?

August 2006, I moved to Gary, Indiana.  I moved to the ghetto and I knew it- but I didn't live at home anymore.  I got weekly emails and nasty letters about how ungrateful I am, I'm a waste of money.  I only view Daddy as a paycheck.

At 19 (which was Dec 2006), I was raped by one of my ex-boyfriends when visiting home.  I learned years later that my father knew he was drunk, knew that he was driving, knew that he was acting out of his mind- and left me there alone with him anyway. He laughed when he told the story (not knowing the rape part) because Jon was 'such a putz'.  That destroyed me for a few more years.

I failed a nursing school class that semester, go figure (huge deal- like really) fought my suicidal urges some more.  Nothing like "you need to come home so I can keep a better eye on you" to just make me come running home again!

I felt it again after my engagement for Rich fell through and his mother sent that nasty email to my father.

How does this fit with Steven?  I never told him until right after we were married.  He knew about the strained relationship I had. The semester we were engaged, I failed my second class- which means you're blacklisted from ever being a nursing student again.... unless you BEG them to come back.  Well the only person allowed to treat me like shit is my father.  He wrote nasty letters to my dean, which my dean didn't really appreciate and let me know as well.  I was accepted back, but after a year off).  Not having any money, I had to move back home to Ohio.

It wasn't two weeks before my wedding, Dad came into my room.  I was still in bed.  It was one of the few days I didn't work.  Told me I was useless.  Then came the infamous, "you do realize that you are truly good for nothing and I know that you will always be just a sponge.  I'll always have to save you.  That's what I get for having kids, and I hope you remember that".  I did, thank you.

Full knowing, at my wedding day, I shouldn't marry Steven.  I smiled and threw all emotion aside and did it anyway!  ANYTHING had to be better.  I could finally and truly be away.  Now I know that Daddy would want me to remind you that he: paid for me to grow up (includes: dance, instruments, sports, food, water, clothes, crap), he paid for some of my hospital stuff (Grandpa paid a great deal too), he helped pay for my stupid car that grandpa bought because it kept breaking down, he paid for my colleges expect the University of Wisconsin, he paid $5000 for my wedding- which, mind you, my wedding wasn't nice enough, good enough, and was only a ruse for my sister to come visit.  He also bought my car.  It was a special present, because it was 'the last thing I'll ever do for you'

My father was swearing at me because I couldn't find tape for some of the last decorations.  Sadly enough, Steven and I found the tape underneath the driver's seat in our car after the ceremony.  My dad had been pissed the entire trip.  Mother said it had to do with him not liking to travel and getting sick along the way.  Funny how, at the rehearsal dinner, Stacey's plane was delayed.  Dad jumped at the opportunity to get into a car and drive an hour to get there and an hour back (?!)  Dad hates traffic (and we're talking Chicago traffic) and driving.  But when he came back, he was like a whole other person.  He was smiling, he was happy, he was just shaking people's hands and greeting them.  Let's get this party started!

Even after the wedding, dad complained he had to clean up because Steven's crew was too small, the fruit served wasn't fresh enough- so he went out and bought more so we wouldn't embarrass him.

A few weeks later, we got a letter of my dad's rantings because we didn't thank him enough for all he had to do for us that day.  Again, I'm useless and even married, I'm still a sponge.

It was early in our marriage that I finally told Steven that I had spent a great deal of my life fighting off my suicidal tendencies.  I made a vow and a promise to him that no matter how bad it got- I knew that he loved me and that I would NEVER do that to him.  He was obviously shaken by my words, but he let it go.

We had a wonderful marriage the first year we were together.  Sadly, we had lost 3 children, it was hard times but we had each other.  We were starting to strain and crack though.  Being on welfare, struggling in my studies, working full time, feeling my health issues increase (especially following the miscarriage and all), Steven wasn't working, throwing around that he had a full ride scholarship and that he didn't even need a degree for writing his novel.  I was literally dying.  Finally, I cracked a little.  I had left a note at home stating that it was just two days before finals and was literally a mess.  I couldn't take it anymore and I was going away.  He didn't have to worry about me, I would be close....

Damn it.

Steven contacted the Bishop and was frantic (like 2 days later).  I was with Robin (one of my female partners on the ambulance) sleeping on her couch.  I just absolutely had to study and I just for the life of me couldn't do it at home.  I couldn't balance the mess, the lack of food, the lack of support, the fighting- I had to pass so I wouldn't be on welfare forever.  Steven didn't need it- I did.

I found out way later that at that moment- that was the end.  Steven had realized that we meant nothing to each other.  He thought that I had thrown aside my vows and was committing suicide.  He loved me enough to give me the time to do it- but couldn't live with the constant worry that I might.  It was NEVER my intention.  I can't stand people that don't keep their word.  But I fully understand why he felt the way he did.

Yes, Steven cheated, yes, he was lazy as sin, yes, he didn't help around the house and hassled me constantly, and our marriage was on the rocks before, but it wasn't anything we couldn't work out.  This, was the dealbreaker.

Steven loved me, still might actually.  He wrote a letter to my parents stating that I needed help.  It's how my parents found out about the rape- his reaction?  Denied it was ever even possible.  My memory must be defective, sorry.  Who knows, maybe the little voices in my head told my memory wrong.  I must be aunt Stephanie.

Divorce was like the worst thing I've ever had to endure.  I was probably suicidal multiple times daily.  I wrote in for help on a few websites, something that I was hoping wasn't traceable. I had multiple plans, ways, what have you. Talking to nursing instructors, I was told I would be denied a license if I had emotional issues because the licensing agency would be afraid I would steal medications or try to kill someone or something.  This is also true if you require a hearing aid (I have one, if you didn't know that) therefore I never ever wore it.  You can't hear someone cry for help!  Stupid because one of my instructors was soooo freaking hard of hearing she screamed every word she ever said (even instructors told us that- it's how the discussion came up).

I got a chance to break fully free moving to Texas.  I did in a heartbeat.  I listened to my dad say good riddance and my mother ask me to move home.  After losing my job at Baylor, I thought about how long it would take for people to come looking for me.  I thought about letting my animals lose and putting everything on automatic bill pay.  Would it take a week?  Month?  til the end of the lease?  til I had a smell?  It was almost a fascinating thing to think about.

I'm sure as much as you're reading this, that you think I'm a nutcase.  Probably.  I will tell you that I'll never actually do it.  It will always be a struggle, it will always (at some point) cross my mind again- but I would never actually do it.  I've always had a reason to live- I have reasons to die.  Such is life.

Today was just a reminder that it comes and goes.  I feel that I should stay alone and never remarry because I wouldn't want someone to always question.  All I would have to do is write or say something a little bit off, get upset, etc. and all my cred goes out the window.  I wouldn't want a husband to think of his children motherless.  It's a hard thought.  I also fear that I would marry someone like my father.  May God grant me the strength to divorce such a man.

My father is doing so much better now (seriously).  He's medicated or something.  He's a temple worker.  I'm still sealed to him for eternity.  I'm not entirely sure why I still care- but I was always sorta pining for Dad's approval.  Maybe I'd do something in my life right to make him proud and realize that I wouldn't always be a sponge.

Even an Ivy league bachelor's wasn't enough, maybe he'll be happy once the loan is paid?  Nah, then he'd be upset I didn't have grandchildren yet, then be upset my husband isn't successful enough, then be upset that I'm spoiling my children.  I don't think it will ever end.

I simply want you to understand.  Understand that today, for this moment, I need to be in bed. I need to not move.  I need to not have another disappointment at this given moment.

I need you to understand that I get it.  I know about that 'final straw' and sometimes I think I receive just enough strength to overpower myself and not do anything about it.  I've lived in a car, I've lived in a tent, I've gotten away- but sometimes it still haunts me.  I get the struggle, I really do.

Being Mormon makes it harder, cuz I know of all these crazy blessings and things I could get.  I know that poor Emma is watching her mother be psychotic down on earth.  If you commit suicide, everything has answers, people will fully understand what you mean, how you feel, and Emma will be raised by a loving family that didn't have craziness behind it.

That's why I get why comments hurt- "be thankful you didn't have kids" = 1. you didn't have to die and leave them behind, 2. you're not really a fit mother anyway 3. they won't be subject to your psychotic ways

People wonder why I'm 'different' 'strange'.  How I hate to be alone and yet always is.  I remember watching SVU- it was about child emotional abuse.  They were talking how it can manifest in different ways- being overtly sexual, etc.  I remember playing many a games with Natalie and Emily and Robert about being pregnant, killing babies, beating up people, leaving people for dead.  That was my CHILDHOOD.  I remember I couldn't have been older than 9.

I finally realized that as much as I wanted to be saved- no one was coming to save me, but it was in my power to save other people (one of my mother's biggest complaints about me- always trying to save people).  It may be true- heck it probably is, but that is the same reason I have for living.  There's actually someone that understands.