Because One Time I Almost Lost

Today I want to talk about something difficult. Something that very few people know about me. Something I've kept silent on for a long time for fear that my weakness would be exposed and that I may be looked at or treated differently.

I'm sharing this with you today because I need to. I need you to know you aren't alone. As alone as I felt. I need you to know that there is hope. That you matter.

Many years ago, I was lost. Constantly surrounded by people, but always alone. There was a darkness in me that I couldn't hide from and trust me I tried. I spent everyday drinking and smoking this darkness away. Trying to mask it's devastating affects with the help of little blue pills.

One day it almost won. One day I had decided I had had enough. My best friend was dating the person I was in love with. I had dated him for two and a half years before he broke up with me to date not only her, but my other best friend as well. 
He was dangling our "love" on a string trailing it behind him for six months after he ended it. Seeing them but seeing me too.

I was young I know. Naive and stupid. Not really sure what real love is. But I felt something so strong for him that it made me blind to what was happening.

Everyday I went to school I was high. 
I couldn't sit still in class from the uppers I was taking. If it weren't for the colored contacts I wore I'll bet my teachers would have caught on. My pupils took over my eyes. The artificial coloring helped mask the craziness that anyone would see if they had actually been looking. 

It was a cold day in January. A fight between me and this man pushed me past anything I could've ever imagined I'd feel. I sat in my bedroom. Music blaring, tears flowing.

So I tried.

I couldn't tell you how many pills I took. Or how long the belt was tied around my throat. I can't remember how long I laid there before I came to. I can't describe the hopelessness I felt. I was a failure at love. A failure to myself. And now a failure at finding a release.

I was more lost than ever. How would I ever explain to my mother where the marks on my neck came from?

She never even noticed.

I spent the next couple of weeks letting loose. I went wild. Nothing left to lose I no longer cared about anything.

Two weeks after my failed attempt I got so wasted I lost an entire weekend. To this day the stories people tell me still don't register in my memory. I don't remember anything past the alcohol, past snorting the klonopins, past making it to my house with a handful of friends.

I woke up two days later to my mother standing over me. Telling me I wasn't going to spend another day in bed. Then she was gone.

Two days later my life changed.

Two days later I found out I was pregnant.

Fear isn't even the word I would use to describe how I felt. The guilt for everything that I had done washed over me in an instant. What had I done?

It was in that moment where my failed attempt at release started to make sense. It was my first step in my journey towards God.

To say I was fully reformed would be a lie. While my battle with drugs and alcohol was over in that instant, I was still at war with this feeling of hopelessness and despair. Probably more so without their numbing release. 

My son helped me through the thick of it, and I had a temporary bandaid-like fix because my pregnancy brought me and his father back together. Which at the time, I thought was the only reason I was feeling the way that I was. Looking back, however, it's clear to me I was in a volatile relationship. We brought out the worst in each other. I had no filter when I saw red and everyone knew it. He was a master at getting me to that point.

Two years five months after my failed attempt I found myself at yet another low point. After enduring so much negativity in my life. Everyday we fought. Everyday I heard that I was a terrible person and a terrible mother. He was still chasing my best friend. I sat back and watched. Believing that this was all that was meant for me. Believing that I indeed deserved the treatment he gave me. Believing I wasn't a good mother.

It was June. My son wasn't quite two. His dad told me he was going fishing with our friends. That I wasn't allowed to go even though all of my friends were going as well. A fight ensued to the point where the police were called.

He went fishing, I called his brother to see if he could take our son. Which he gladly did. I was devasted. Swirling in the darkness once more. Lost. Alone.

I sat staring at a cup of bleach. Bawling. I wrote out a long letter to my son. Begging him for forgiveness. I'm sure if I looked hard enough I probably still have this note somewhere.

I gathered every bit of courage I had and raised the glass to my lips.

" Please forgive me."

There was a knock on my door.

It was my mom coming to see if I was ok. I told her I was, but I just needed to be alone and I sent her on her way. It took me nearly thirty minutes to gather up the courage to bring that cup to my lips again.

"I love you Damian."

There's another knock at the door. My son and his uncle.

I dumped the glass and put it away and opened the door.

I found God that day.

While many would brush this off to coincidence, I can't.  I can't believe that a coincidence would knock on my door at the precise moment I'm ready to succumb to the darkness. Not just once but twice.

I can't believe a coincidence would allow me to just wake up that moment two and half years ago and walk away with only a few marks on my neck and a massive headache.

My life didn't change overnight, but my heart did. I stayed with him for a couple more years. Trying to make it work for our son. Believing it could. It couldn't.

Now looking back I see that every rough spot I went through, I went through for a reason. I had to believe my life was worth something. Even if I couldn't measure it in my own mind. God wanted me here.

If I would have succeeded at least two lives would have been forever changed. Four lives wouldn't have even came into existence. I wouldn't have been able to share this with you.

I would like to believe that my life has touched many others in the eight years since. That I have made a profound difference to at least one other person. I believe with one hundred percent of my being that God put me here because I am needed.

You are too. You may not be able to see it right now. You may be lost and scared like I was. You aren't alone, I promise. You matter to more people than you realize and you owe it to yourself to reach out to them. Some choices can't be unmade, but they can always be worked through together.

If you're having trouble talking to someone you know, the suicide prevention hotline is available 24/7. 
1-800-273-8255

Realizations of a Social Networking Mama

Socializing has come a long way since I became a mom. Discovering I was pregnant was not met at any point with the thought of when to make it Facebook official. Or any other equivalent social networking site either. Eleven years ago Pinterest, Instagram, and Twitter weren't around, and Facebook had literally just come about.

I never gave any thought to unique and exciting ways to announce my pregnancies. Or tried to pick the perfect timing. Nor did I consider celebrating the milestones of my kids' childhood this publicly. Or open up my family's life like I've done. However, today that has become a big part of the decisions I make all the time.

It's as present on my mind after I see those two little lines as "oh crap when was my last period?" This thought may not be relatable to everyone; but living so far away from the majority of people who matter in our lives, I honestly can't help it.

Social networking is a huge part of my family's day to day. Some days I'm perfectly okay with this, some days not so much. I accept, however, that this dulls a lot of the pain for the grandmas missing their grandkids right now. So I will continue to do so.

My kids' grandparents, greats, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends get to be a part of their lives because the power of Facebook. To me that makes it worth it.

Since these sites have become increasingly popular over the last few years it's hard to ignore the desire to join in on the fun. Even not being far away from family and friends.

With my last two pregnancies and my own increased use it has become more apparent that there are so many ideas I wish I would've recorded for my first four kids.

Exciting pregnancy announcements, gender reveals, crafty celebration pieces for your home, milestone markers for ages, grades, life events, all things I never thought about until I became addicted to Pinterest. All things that now that I'm adding a sixth child to my brood feel slightly less exciting to share.

Seriously. How many people are enthusiastic towards a mother of five inviting you to her gender reveal party for baby number six? How many enjoy seeing the many growing belly shots of yet another pregnancy? How many people care what you're craving? Or what's happening in this week of pregnancy?

Now swap out mother of five with first time mom. Tell me I'm not the only person who can see the difference?

Google "pregnancy announcement for fifth child" though and see what you find.

I think it would be awesome to be a first time mom right now. The ideas you have at the tip of your fingers because of social media are endless. So for veteran moms like me it's kind of sad missing out on moments like these.

I know. I know. There are many people out there who couldn't care less if this is your first or your twelth. Babies are either exciting or they aren't. But, being a veteran mom, expecting yet another bundle of joy, I can't help but notice how silly I feel posting anything about the milestones of this pregnancy.

Maybe it's because there aren't many new and exciting things that happen when you've been pregnant as many times as I have. Sure there are plenty of new things that can happen, but "new" is usually never coupled with "exciting." It's usually more in the ballpark of horrifying, hellish, or at the very least unpleasant.

When I scroll through my news feed and see the updates of a first time mom, I can't help but feel nostalgic. The wonder of the unknown, the joy of what's to come, the nervous anticipation of what to expect. All amazing parts of experiencing child rearing for the very first time. Or even the second or third for that matter.

When I see the awesome YouTube videos, the amazing photography ideas, the effort and love that reaches all corners of the earth; I battle the urge to be overflowing with happiness for them with being incredibly jealous.

When it comes time for your fourth, fifth, or sixth, to me, it seems like you aren't expected to act as happy.

Having another baby are ya? You do know what causes that right? Were you trying for another baby? So who's getting fixed now?

Questions people seem to think are perfectly within their right to ask. So imagine the reaction to that group picture you're trying to take with everyone saying "Saaayyy Susie's Pregnant!" Instead of the usual "say cheese." Sure you're going to wind up sharing some interesting expressions, but how many of those are going to be looks of excitement instead of the again? faces.

Now, do any of these feelings of hesitancy stop me from pinning four hundred pins of baby gear, announcement, and photo ideas on Pinterest? Hell no. A good idea is a good idea. At worst, I just owe my older kids an apology for not doing as many awesome activities through the early years with them. My bad kids. I was a newbie at the internet.

Facebook and Instagram become a whole new arena though. Being that these two platforms are specifically designed to socialize on. As much as I try to I can't get over feeling like no one cares about how big my belly is, what week of pregnancy I'm on, if I'm craving gummy bears and French fries, or what piece of produce my unborn child is measuring in line with this week.

I want to proceed on my way capturing these moments regardless. I just feel reluctant to share my excitement with those I connect with online. And yep, it is my Facebook and yes I can post whatever the Hell I want. I'm just considerate of my friends and I do take the time to decide how well a post will be received before I put it up. You're welcome by the way.

So I suppose to the other veteran moms who feel this way, I say to you, screw everyone else. Yeah, I don't share as much as I probably would've been able to with my first or second, but I'm not going to refrain altogether. I will go on about the next several months celebrating this new life I'm adding to my family. And for the record, I am one of those people who are excited to see any new addition you have to your family as well. No pregnancy will be identical, no child the same, so do whatever you want during this time.

With all the negativity in the world it is a welcome change to see so much positive in your life. And I will stand by my desire to see a growing bump next to a chalkboard before another damn bathroom selfie any day of the week.

Embrace each moment because the way I see it, it may not be your first child and you may already have one of each gender, but this very well could be your last experience as a pregnant woman. This may be the last time you feel the kick of life within you, the last time you have an opportunity to blame all the nasty moods, excessive sleeping, weird food cravings on something other than just being a strange and crazy person. Document and share at your leisure because you have the ability and no one has the right to make you feel like you shouldn't.

Why My Husband Says He Hates Me When I'm Pregnant and I Completely Understand

One thing I believe every mother can agree on is how much men just don't get it. The havoc creating life can wreak on a woman's body is mind boggling and miraculous. But when you're in the throes of it, it only feels like tourcher.

I've never pretended to be an easy person to get along with. I'm highly emotional even during the calmest times in my life. I wear my heart on my sleeve and analyze even the smallest statements directed towards me. It's not something I'm necessarily proud of, but it is something I've accepted about myself. I feel too much.

At this point you would think my husband halfway knows what to expect. For the most part I guess he does, but it's a very superficial type of understanding because he just can't wrap his brain around the amount of work my motionless body is doing. He doesn't understand why I can't just suck it up and push myself to get things done that need to be done.

Maybe I've spoiled him? Or maybe he's just as stressed out as I am?

I wish like hell I could stomach standing at the kitchen sink long enough to tackle the foul smelling collection of dishes that have piled up over the last few days, but I just can't. I wish I could cook a fabulous supper and enjoy the one moment of the day where my family is all together, but I just can't. My stomach won't allow it. My energy won't cooperate. My body hates me right now because it's focus is where it should be: On creating new life. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow is as good a day as any for me to have a "good" day. My body may decide to loosen the metaphorical umbilical cord and allow me a few gulps of fresh air.

This isn't a post to bash my husband nor one to write my pregnant self a pass. It is to acknowledge that right now I'm a barely functioning, hormonal nightmare; and my poor husband reacts accordingly because he gets the shittiest end of all of it.

We have gone through a lot in our six short years together. Seven pregnancies, 3 miscarriages, relocation, estrangement, death, financial hardship, everyday stress. Our marriage isn't perfect. Thankfully, neither of us expect it to be.

When I break down crying because he hurt my feelings he's rightfully confused. He didn't really even say much of anything, but I read between the lines and forgot to cut him some slack. He can't fix what's going on with me right now and it bothers him. I'm his wife. I can tell.

When my emotions are too much for him he snaps. He looked at me the other day and point blank to my face said "I hate you when you're pregnant." I won't act like it didn't cut me deep. Because it did. More so than any other thing he has ever said to me. But I've thought about it a lot and I realize I hate me when I'm pregnant too.

Whoever thinks pregnancy is some marvelous experience that opens you up to how strong and amazing you truly are has clearly only been pregnant once or twice. Or is some freak of nature that never experienced the real "joys" of pregnancy like morning sickness, sheer and utter exhaustion, and mood swings from hell to name a few. Don't get me wrong. Having a baby truly is a gift from God, and the good parts always outweigh the bad otherwise why would I put myself through this for the umpteenth time?

I can only speak from my experience and I'm just not a nice person during this time.