Bent Words

Bent Words

July 15, 2020


I don’t remember everything. Not an excuse but I don’t. I remember “you look just the same” and spinning the wheel. I remember the look on my Big Kid’s face, the sound of her scream. I don’t remember that I didn’t move. That he had to turn around and come back to get me to move. I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember taking a bunch of pills.


Evening. I barely woke up to the sound of a tree being felled in our yard with an earth shaking ‘FUMP.’ Wasn’t sure where I was until I felt the hollow ache of absolute guilt. Chainsaws buzzing and children laughing outside. My head ached and my heart sank.

What should have been LOVE was actually frustration, anger, distrust, pain. I am so sorry for this. It shouldn’t have been anything but love that poured out of me and it was not. I accept all responsibility and I understand I’ve made a huge mess that I cannot fully clean up.

I am going to pretend no one hates me because I cannot be this entity of disdain and keep waking up every day. I have to do this part for my kids. I can’t do that to them. Because even if there isn’t much love for me now, there would be even less if I were not around. Not that I would know any better being dead but my luck there would be a God and He would show me only the anguish in their hearts and I would be reviled for eternity.

He took Middle Child and tried to take the baby but I held on tight. He wouldn’t be coming home. He should have kicked ME out but he didn’t.


I had no idea my SIL was here on suicide watch. I feel terrible even typing it. I don’t know what else to say about Sunday.


Work was a blur. I had not eaten since Friday and I still wasn’t hungry. My selfishness sure wasn’t fucking starved though. That was well fed. Whatever happens next will be a mutual decision and done in the most straight forward way that I can manage. For everyone’s sake.


My heart is heavy and I’m a little bit more than a little bit messy. My fear is painful and I feel it intensely all over. There is a fear of change. There is a fear of not changing. There’s a fear of timing. But this will not be rushed. This will be discussed. This will be what it will be.

I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused.

Written at 12:07 p.m.