Attempting to Live for Them

"I'm not crazy. My reality is just different than yours."


I’ve always seemed to struggle with my weight in some way or another. When I was younger, I took to not eating lunch (never went to the cafeteria), and I forced myself to go run whenever I possibly could. I remember when I became self conscious about it-my uncle made me very aware about how much weight I’d gained because of a burger I was eating. I will never forget that.

I was doing fairly well with keeping my weight under control, until I got pregnant. That turned my world upside down because I was forced to become (what I felt) grotesquely fat. I walked everyday and watched what I ate to gain the bare minimum of pregnancy weight, but my doctor made the comment that I was underweight and needed to gain more. Who says that?!

It was an icy uphill battle from then on because there were more pregnancies after that; my mental state was becoming more prominent; my depression was more severe; and I was taking less care of myself because I had other responsibilities.My peak weight was with my final pregnancy, and I had never felt more like a whale. People constantly made comments about my size from me carrying twins to having an extremely giant child. No…I was just fat.

Now…I can’t seem to lose weight. I can’t control the snacking/grazing. I can’t control my porion sizes. I have zero support. I can’t go on a simple walk or run without it becoming an argument. Why even try?

To digress for a moment. I think the only reason my husband says he “loves the way I look” is because no one looks at a fat person. No one will try to talk to or sleep with a fat person. I can’t feel good about myself as a fat person. So he keeps me at my lowest so no one can definitely have me. Those are my thoughts on it. Because when I cheated, my medicine was working pretty okay (not great), and I was fitting in cute clothes and looked good naked. He didn’t like that.

Back to my point. I can’t find motivation to stay on track. I have a little journal that I keep tips and meal plans and exercise plans I find doable in. I don’t have a friend to do this with or an accountability partner. It’s just me attempting to do all of this alone, and I am being pushed further and further away from my goal. 

I am to a point where I’m going to just start starving myself, no questions asked, again. Just eat one small meal like I used to and be done. It seemed to work back then. Why wouldn’t it work now?



I never thought I’d be where I am today. Broken, alone in a marriage I never wanted, a mom [which I wouldn’t change], a broken mind, and feeling more like a failure than ever before. How did I fall this far off track from the goals I set for myself?

Growing up, I wanted to finish college; be a surgeon; become a part of doctors without borders; travel the world as a writer/artist in my free time; live in Japan for a while. But, alas, I am stuck in the state I’ve been in my whole life, with half a college education (that I certainly can’t afford to finish), and a job I love but isn’t my dream. I once had high hopes for myself, but now I struggle just to stay alive day-to-day.

My husband doesn’t understand what I go through day in and day out. He doesn’t feel the pain, nor does he hear the horrid noise and torture that has plagued me for years. I doubt he’s ever been ambitious, and he lives blissfully unaware of how miserable I really am within the confines of my own home, if I can even call it that anymore.

I dream of one day, at least, being able to havING enough energy and drive to do the things I once loved. I want that be able to read a book cover to cover again, rather than read some and let the rest sit for months because I can’t focus on it. I want inspiration to draw and be without worry that someone will ruin it. I want to be able to enjoy being outside and maybe going on a hike or a run again (once I get into shape). These are the things I lost within myself.

I’m merely a shell of who I used to be with echoes of anger and depression, psychotic and morbid thoughts. What kind of monster have I become?

Just writing.

I feel like a prisoner in my own home. My husband is a controlling, emotionally/verbally abusive human being with no real filter or reapect in day-to-day life either. I don’t call him a man because my definition of a “man” doesn’t treat anyone the way he treats me, the kids, or anyone around him (or within earshot).

As I’ve previously written about, I don’t get respect or even the basic of care in this relationship (if you can call it that because you definitely cannot call it a marriage). I don’t get any mental stimulation. I’m constantly talked over, to the point where I don’t discuss things with him anymore. He is just a brute with no real care for anyone else.

The voices in my head despise him. They make threats upon his life constantly, and when he talks, they screech louder and scream at him and yell at me for even being with him. When he makes backhanded comments, I don’t care what happens to him because I’m a firm believer in karma. 

Any deep caring feelings for him have waned, so I’m more or less going through the motions in this life with him. If I have to be stuck with him, and walk on eggshells, why try any harder than I have to? I get nothing out of it…or him.

He’ll tell people all day long that he loves me, but in reality, he loves the idea of me…and he loves even more that I do EVERYTHING for him. He is a lazy lump. Yes, I said it! He does practically nothing. Stays at home, but he is in no way a homemaker, more of a home avoider. If it’s work within the house, it will most likely be overlooked.

I hate admitting all of this, but I am exhausted. I am exhausted of all of this. Between my shattered mind and the constant struggle through life, I don’t want to tolerate his bullshit anymore.


I love the cool, crisp weather Autumn brings. I love the color change, even though it represents the start of death, but the beginning of this is beautiful.

I don’t enjoy the craze of pumpkin spice that seems to flood the market as soon as the first day of Fall is upon us. It makes zero sense. It’s become so ridiculous, this that should’ve never been pumpkin spiced are, in fact, flavored that way. Ugh.

Either way, cozy sweaters can come out. Comfortable weather begins. You can break out the wonderful hot tea and coffees (at least I don’t drink hot tea or coffee in the warmer months) that tantalize the senses. Boots are more comfortable to wear, whether fuzzy or otherwise. Blankets and cuddling are welcome, if that’s your thing.

It’s just a gorgeous season that you can drive for hours at the slowest speed on the scenic route for hours without a care in the world. You can’t really do that at any other time. Spring brings allergies and rain (usually); Summer burns everything off (normally), and it’s way too hot; and Winter…pfft, just forget it. There’s nothing better than Autumn! 

My Past?

My past is not squeaky clean by any means. But then again, whose is? Not everyone has cheated on their significant other, but I have. I’m not afraid to say it anymore. Yes, I am a wee bit ashamed of it, but it happened.

In my marriage I feel neglected, disrespected, disconnected, unloved, and literally every other reason imaginable. I desire closeness, intimacy, and friendship. Someone I can rely not only for my needs but my wants. And when I had my affairs, I was given that. Now, I am back where I started-alone and dejected.

My husband was heartbroken when he found out, but it was necessary nonetheless. But the falling out we had was violent and brutal, and I wanted to separate from him on many occasions; but he wouldn’t let it happen. Seriously, he wouldn’t let our marriage dissolve. I could understand his anger, but he refused to see, from my side, why everything happened. He still doesn’t.

Now, I can’t say that the urge doesn’t still hit me to find someone to attach to. To be with, if only, for a short time. I don’t know how it would work out with since I’m so limited and broken. Not only does breaking my husband’s heart stop me, but also the fact of trusting someone else enough to go that far with…again. And I also get bored easily. That is very sad to say out loud.

I want to apologize to him for my wandering thoughts, but he doesn’t make it easy. He doesn’t make me want to stay faithful any more than I have to. As much as I don’t want to say that, I am. Sigh 


I love my kids. I try to provide the best life I can for them. I make sure that they have everything that they need. I can’t always get them everything that they want, and, in a way, that’s a good thing because I don’t want them growing up thinking everything is handed to them.

They know that Mommy can’t provide everything for them. They know that we struggle financially, so they don’t ask for things that their friends have anymore. And they don’t go for the expensive toys anymore, or they say something along the lines of “I know we don’t have a lot of money, but one day I’d like to have one of these,” so that I know for future reference because they know eventually I try to get them one or two things when I can for special occasions.

For the most part, they are good kids. They have their quirks and bad points that I wish I could correct (but at the moment, I’m having a hard time getting through to them), but I’ve raised them well enough, so far, that in public, those issues are not to come out. I guess it’s just one of those things that no parenting book will ever be able to assist you on; you just have to figure it out as you go.

They see me cry, but they never know why exactly. They just give me a hug and tell me that it will be okay. They deal with Daddy being mean, which none of us will never understand, and I try to protect them from it as much as I know how. Asking why yields no answers, but they are not learning from his actions.

I can’t explain to them that my mind is shattering beyond repair. They watch me take medications and struggle with all of the surrounding physical noise, but they don’t realize that all that noise is amplified. But still it continues. I can’t explain to them that my depression (or, according to my doctor, bipolar disorder) is why I yell more days than others when I don’t want to and know I shouldn’t.

Regardless of all that, I show them all the love in the world. I stay as patient as I can. I try my hardest to be the best mother I can, even though it’s not the role I feel I was made for. (I know some women want to be moms, and that’s great. I was not one of those women.) I am not main one home all of the time because I am the sole financial provider, but they know that it’s only because of them. 

They are the only reason I am still alive. They are the only reason I haven’t opted-out of my torment.

Today’s mind.

I had an amazing dream last night/this morning that I was in a perfect relationship with Thomas Gibson. It was a pretty intense, full blown color dream that I didn’t want to wake up from; so much so that I woke up late to get ready for work…haha. We were happy. There were lots of cute, smiley moments and laughs. We helped some kids together. The sex was intense. A very memorable dream, to say the least.

Why did I start off with all of that? Dreams like this depress me in a big way. They make my heart happy, and they give my mind the thrill of a lifetime when they happen; but when you get down to the root of it, it’s JUST a dream that will NEVER happen to me. I look around at my broken world, and I wonder why it has to be this way.

I’m not saying that I want a relationship with Thomas Gibson specifically (although he is hot, and I wouldn’t mind it). I want a relationship that is perfect for me. It doesn’t even have to be a concrete situation; it can be open, which is ideal, unless this person is so perfect and well-rounded that I feel like there’s no need for anyone else. But that seems like I’m asking for too much.

I want something that is solid between me and the other person. An understanding that cannot be matched. I want to be cutesy and loving with someone, but also still be able to have a serious conversation with them (that doesn’t turn into some one-sided bashing tournament, like my husband does). I want to be able to share all aspects of myself without feeling scared that they’re going to rip me apart for how I am, act, or feel. 

I don’t feel like I want a lot for myself, though THEY tell me it is forever impossible to find. I just want something for me that is special. I am tired of being broken down and abused, forgotten and cast aside like nothing. It has to exist for me, right?


To put it simply, I’ve never been in love. I’ve loved friends and family, but I’ve never felt love in a relationship for another. Yes, I have cared deeply, but that feeling of longing and emotion just has never been there. 

Regrettably, I’ve said “I love you” back more times than I can count to people that claim they love me in relationships, just to not make things awkward. I’ve become very good at lying and mimicking the “feelings” of love (or at least the appropriate reactions). No one has ever called me on it, and no one has ever come out of the relationship feeling unloved as a person.

I’m not saying these people didn’t feel those feelings for me truly, but I felt like they only loved the idea of us, rather than actually loving me. Or maybe my wall is just too thick to break…heck, I might be incapable of loving another human in an actual one-on-one relationship. Who knows. There’s no one that I’ve felt comfortable enough to just be myself with. I’m constantly hiding some part of myself from someone.

My husband is in the mindset, like the others, that I’m in love with him. Though, he also has the delusional thought that he’s the one and only person to propose to me; he’s actually the third. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, and I’ve yelled the truth at him when I get angry, but he chooses to take it as a joke and dismiss it (just like most of my feelings and emotions). I’ve tried to love him, much like women in arranged marriages, but I can’t force myself to love someone that treats me the way he does. I don’t even find myself attracted to him for the same reason. sure he’s cute, but his attitude and treatment of me and others is deplorable and a total turnoff.

I will probably never find love in this lifetime. I will probably never feel like someone truly loves and  cares about me whole-heartedly. I’ve lived this long without it and survived; living vicariously through others for the rest of my life can’t do any more damage than it already has. I’m not saying that I don’t want it, but I’ve come to accept me never having it.



Today has just been a day.  I’ve just been working.  A little slower than most days, but still working.  I’ve enjoyed the relative quiet and less hustle and bustle of the normal Thursday.  I can’t even tell it’s a holiday, to be completely honest with you.

My dinner idea was overturned, so we’re having something less exciting that we usually have on any other given night, which kind of bummed me out even more.  But I guess that is what I should have expected living with a controlling human being such as my husband.  Not like he would’ve had to do anything anyway.  So, another boring dinner for another boring night…in my [outwardly] boring life.


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