This is a post about me. Because right now, I need to talk about me, and I need to feel like someone’s listening–even if they’re not. This is a post that is just about me…it won’t also turn into a post about someone else who went through it too, or someone else who’s going through it worse now. I’m not going to talk about the ways this could apply to you. If you do relate, that’s great (or maybe not so great). But today, right now, I just need to talk about me. Because I’m not doing okay.
I wonder how much it shows up on my face. The exhaustion–sure–but what about the rest? That I’m carrying around a heaviness I can only describe as the weight of invisibility? That I feel like crying all the time? How badly I need a hug from someone who really loves me,and how badly I need there to be someone who does.
I feel trapped in a marriage with a man who no longers love me–or who maybe never did, I don’t know. I feel trapped and bound to a family that no longer loves me. I need my crafty clever neighborhood girlfriends who will laugh with my about the shit of my life and remind me that it’s not all bad because they’re in it–only they don’t exist. I need the things other people have. Or maybe just the people in movies, I don’t know.
My family doesn’t understand the difficulties of surviving physical and sexual assault. I know that many of them have experienced their own shares of harassment–as most women have. But most have not experience egregious violence that I have, at least not that they share with me. And of those who have, did not gain empathy from it. I discontinued contact with many of them for saying the abuse was my fault because I stayed. Now, their cruelty continues in the form of language that blames me for existing. “It’s impossible to reason with you,” when I try to express my feelings. Everywhere I turn, any time I try to talk, everyone starts fighting me and blaming me and telling me everything that is wrong with me.
The Mental Health Heathers
I don’t know if it’s fair to call them “Heathers” because they don’t have the same name (or even the same gender), but there are other similarities, mostly the snobbiness, self-involvement, and sycophantic belief in each other’s stories.. There aren’t too many of them but they are a small group of people in the “mid-tier” mental illness community–meaning nobody knows who they are in the health writing community, but most people in the MH blogging community know about them.
This small group all has me blocked on Twitter. It took me a minute to place one of them in this group. When he blocked me I was very confused. But then I realized he was a Heather, and I was out. Well don’t worry, Christian Slater is busy being a hacktivist alter now and Winona Ryder has her hands full with the Upside Down. I’m not going to kill anyone. But these people *are* really tiny and pathetic and deserve a good kick up the ass each.
This whole thing started because I tried to set a boundary. I was going to be on a podcast–something which was a big deal at the time we booked it, but not as much of milestone by the time was set to happen. But she didn’t know that I’d already gotten a bit of a career launch. In her world, I was still a newbie blogger who was going to benefit greatly from the podcast. Well, when I asked her (firmly–but politely) not to send unprofessional, somewhat blustery tweets to my professional account, she kicked me off the podcast–two days before it was set to air. This was also after canceling her guest post on my blog about a week before it was set to be published because she didn’t “have the emotional capacity to write” (she’d had three months to complete it).
Now, this obviously obnoxious woman is wrangling whomever she can in the mental illness community against me. Not only is it cruel, it’s pathetic. She screwed me over enough. I got upset and told her how I felt about her and that’s why she’s so mad. What did I say? That she was never going to get anywhere if all she did was whine about not getting her self-published book on the NYT bestseller’s list. Which is true. I get hurt by rejection too…but then I keep going, because I actually want to be a writer. Ugh. I’m embarrassed that I ever associated with her, but the fact that she’s now created a little cult of mental illness Heathers to join in is just a bit too much.
My mother-in-law is visiting. Or rather, she was. She left this morning, in a storm of yelling and profanity–without saying goodbye to my daughters who, sadly, love their grandmother very much. I spent the latter half of the morning cuddling my three-year-old telling her that no matter what grandma did, mama loves her and will always be there for her.But she’s still asking about grandma and drawing her and asking “will she be back for my birthday?”
Why did this woman leave, when she was supposed to stay for 12 weeks while my husband did an intensive school program? Because my husband did something stupid and kept us (mostly me) up all night. She got mad, and abandoned us. Literally when we needed the help most. It’s pathetic and disgraceful–especially considering there are young children involved.
I never wanted her to come because she’s a huge part of the reason my husband and I moved from Florida to Seattle with no money, no furniture, one baby daughter and another on the way, and no prospects. She’s just too volatile and too unreliable. But my husband insisted things would be different this time. He promised I’d have all this extra time to “kick my writing career into hyperdrive” because his mom would be so glad to spend so much time with the kids. Well, on her way out, she spat at me that I’m garbage who “does nothing” (what this family thinks of my writing career), that she “didn’t come to be a slave” (apparently slaves sit children in front of televisions), and that “nobody wants [me].” My fucking in-laws, everybody.
I have no family, whether by blood or marriage, that I can rely on. My husband is just as fickle as his mom so I can’t expect much from him either. I don’t have many friends around–luckily one is visiting this week from California so at least I’ll get to see him–and my life is just a poisonous void.
I love my kids but I am so, so sick of this.