fortunately this time, I realised what was happening before it was too late.
This post, Is not going to be pretty. It's raw, It's probably not well written but it's something that I've been hiding from myself, for years. It is not public knowledge, a few select people know, and some others, who I now wish I'd NEVER told, but it is not public. Until today.
Today is different, because I've recognised, in myself, some of those old feelings, and thoughts that caused so much heartache. I've managed to recognise it before it got destructive, and before I acted on any of it, courteousy of one very intelligent, old friend.
I think it is important for me, for my own well-being to write this. It will keep me from going there again. It will keep my sanity. And it will save my marriage. But I must say, despite what I am going to write, I DO NOT blame my husband for any of this. Not at all.
If you're not ready for deep, and painful, today might be the day for you to click the [x], and go elsewhere.
Quite a few years ago, I had, what some might consider an emotional breakdown. I basically lost the plot. It wasn't pretty, in fact it was a damn disaster. I nearly lost everything that I had left.
It all started after our miscarriage. I was completely shocked by the first one, we'd been married for three months when we lost our first baby at 12 weeks - He was to be our honeymoon baby. When I collapsed at work and was rushed to hospital fearing an ectopic rupture, I knew that it wasn't life threatening. I thought I was ok, that I had just overdone it, and should have eaten breakfast. However, hearing the doctor say, after the ultrasound, "sorry the baby is dead," shocked the pants off me. I was litterally, stunned. I was young, not even twenty, and honestly, didn't even know what miscarriage was. And here it was happening to me.
The few weeks that followed, were horrendous. There was surgery, antibiotics, more antiobiotics, depression, confusion and just sadness. Matt went back to work pretty quickly, I had two weeks off before I went back. I thought I was ok, I thought that I had "delt" with it all, and was ready to move forward.
And then, It happened again.
Three months later, we were back in hopsital, me being scheduled for surgery to have another dead baby removed from my body, my emotional energy just gone. I was just numb, I felt sick. I felt like a failure, like i was the worst woman, the worst mother and the worst person for not being able to just have a healthy baby.
Again, life goes on and Matt went back to work. I also went back, but in a part time, temporary capacity. I was no longer enjoying my work in childcare, and I was no longer a happy person to be around. I felt like a vacuum, sucking the life out of everything and everyone around me, just so I could try and "feel something".
Then, I did start to "feel". Overwhelming, awful emotions. It wasn't what I expected. It was resentment. It was Hate, Disgust, Hurt and Rejection. Humiliation. Despair. Anger. You name it, I felt it. Matt felt I needed space to just be, to survive, to get through it, and so he gave it to me.
How was he to know that what I really, really wanted, was to be held, to be supported, to just run away with him for months, and figure out our lives, which only 8 months earlier had been so perfect, when we were married. He couldnt know, I'd stopped speaking to him honestly months earlier.
I didn't know myself anymore, I thought that my world was over, that I would be better if I was not here, not married. That Matt should divorce me, and find a "real" wife. One who could give him the babies that I kept losing. On some level, as ridiculous as it seems, I actually thought it would be better if he had never met me. Never fallen in love with me and never married me.
I quit my job. Childcare is just too hard when your baby has died. When two of them have died, and your only just twenty, and newly married - life gets complicated. It was, the worst thing I could have done.
I now found myself angry at the world, hurting and upset, And Alone. Home alone, all day, every day, for big stretches of time. I started drinking. Rarely at home, but in pubs, bars and clubs. I'd go out with a friend for a couple of hours - and not come home at all that night. I'd get so drunk i'd be sleeping in the corner of bars and then wake up to start again. I got escorted out of many pubs for being too intoxicated. I was a mess.
I had an affair. To be accurate, I had two. Married 8 months and it was all falling apart.
The guilt nearly killed me. I know why I did it. I know what the motivation was, I know why I wanted to lash out, to hurt myself, and him. I know all of it. I told him about it. I left him. I packed up while he was at work, and moved out. I don't blame Matt for a single second of my stupidity. I don't blame him for even a nanosecond of it. It was all me. Every single detail. Was me.
I rang my mum in tears, and asked her if I could come stay at her house for a few days, while things settled down. She refused. Told me no. That broke my heart, that I wasn't welcome, really, really hurt me. She never appologised for that, even after I told her, before Ariana died, why I so needed her that day. I stayed in a backpacker's hostel, I got very drunk, I did stupid things. I raged internally at myself, and what I had become, and how I was destroying whatever I had left.
To say I was destructive is an understatement.
I wish I could say what the turning point was. I wish I could pinpoint at what stage I regained some semblance of self control. I don't know if it was when my best friend at the time, who I had been drinking with on a regular basis, tried to kill herself. Or maybe it was when I finally opened the floodgates at Matt and told him everything. Every single rotten detail. It might have been the day I came home for a change of clothes, and Matt begged me, with tears in his eyes not leave, not to go and keep doing this. Or to at least let him come with me. I still left, but I will never forget the look on his face, the tears, or the hurt. I don't know what changed.
I remember the pain I caused him. I remember the damage I did to him. I will never forget, the look in his eyes, when I told him I had cheated on him. I won't ever forget how instead of kicking me out, he held me close and told me that He loved me, and that he forgave me. Somewhere, around there, the healing began. I stoped going out, and drinking. I stoped lying to him. I started talking to him, trying to heal the rift, the hurt in our marriage. We moved back to my parents place, because we weren't coping. I'd sent us into financial despair, by drinking every cent we had. We lost friends. I got a job. I started spending every spare second with him. We didn't drink. We talked, a lot.
To this day, My husband is the strongest person I know. What I did to our marriage, to our trust, to our relationship, very nearly destroyed us. I treated him so very badly, I can't even read over what I've written so far without crying. I can't believe, even today that he stuck around. That he just instantly forgave me, and held me up, until I could stand on my own feet again. He is the most amazing man I know. I hope I won't be embarrassing him by writing this, We don't talk often about what I put us through, we moved forward, and put it behind us. In May we will celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary. I can't believe, that he stuck it out with me.
I need to write this. I need to have people in my world, who can see the signs, and can be strong enough to tell me - stop drinking. Or stop partying so much. Stop what your doing. I need to be accountable, to be honest, to not lie to myself. When I lie to myself, then I can lie to others. I can't trust myself not to fall into my old ways. I am at my weakest that I have been, in years. I have a daughter to live for, a husband to love, and to support. But I am human. And the thought that I might slip, that I might rewind my life back 4 years, scares me.
So I write this. I pour out my heart, my past, my history, my evil, in the hopes that in some way, my past can save me, that any person who reads this, and feels, either through my writing, or though my day to day interactions with them, that something is different, will help me. Will stand up to me, will tell me to stop. To think. To pay attention to what is really happening.
In so many ways, I'm ok.
But with this. I need help. I need your help. I need your honesty.
I can't go back to what I used to be. I won't. But I will need help, to recognise in myself, the things so terrible, I choose to ignore them.