Stabbing my own heart

It’s been a while since I have had any desire to write. I won’t lie, my life has been excruciating and void for a few months.

My therapist…… Yes, I see one….(A lot of you probably should to!)


Anyways……. she asked me about my self esteem. Yeah… She went there.


And what she said to me was this:


“For the last 15 months on a weekly basis I have listened to you, while you’ve slowly committed suicide. You’ve yet to see your “inner beauty and self” and you destroy yourself in such a way that even my heart hurts for you.”


She continued: “Who hurt you so bad that you feel the need to completely erase yourself in this world? Why do you hate yourself so much? I have met your husband,some of your children and they all love and adore you,I have heard how highly you speak of others and I have seen the lengths you will go for someone you care about,


But every time you have the opportunity to do something for yourself all you seek to do is stab yourself in your own heart.”


I must say that I was taken aback by her observation. I really was. And I had not a single retort,snide comment or even a sarcastic jab to throw out there. I was speechless.


I’ve spent the last few days mulling her words around inside my head. They echo so loudly that I can’t stand it.


And all I keep hearing myself say is “Your right,I hate myself.”


And I do.


Which is why I feel very vulnerable writing this. Its painful for me to put the context of my thoughts into words and place them on this screen. It’s killing me to admit just how much I hate,loathe and despise my existence.


Who hurt me?




I did it myself.


I spent years judging others,mentally competing against people who didn’t even know it. Shredding myself time and time again.


I have always known that I was never smart enough,pretty enough,quick enough,thin enough,fat enough(Because I am a extremist) I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I can’t draw, I can’t act,I can’t debate.

(Oh but I can bitch).


Im not “Victoria Secret” beautiful,I knew I’d never be on a magazine cover of any kind, I’ve never won a “title”, No MVP or VIP,No ribbon or trophy.




I never did any of that.


I’ve never been good at something to where my parents were proud and had “bragging rights”.


I was more of a disappointment at everything.


So I turned to drugs/alcohol and became a junkie.


And man was I good at it.


Really good.


So good that I never saw just how well it robbed me.


But knowing I was a junkie meant there we no more expectations of me and I knew what everyone thought of me.


And I could live with that.


A loser. A thief. A liar. Scum. Dirty. Low-life. No good. Used goods. A waste. Shame. Embarrassment. Horrible.


That was me. All the way baby. I fit in somewhere.


I got married and had kids along the way. And I married a total loser. Because I was a total loser. Insanity at its best right there,let me tell you….


Then I watched as 2 of my own children died in my arms and both of my parents die in hospital beds months apart.


I watched my house get hit in a drug raid,an ex husband go off to prison,and everything I own disappear.


Then 11 years ago I made a promise to a 4 yr old little boy as he was being ripped out of my arms by a State Social Worker that “Mommy will bring you home,I promise!!.”


I stopped using drugs and alcohol and people. I stayed away from the very people,places and things that bred bad habits in my soul. I cut off those that had no morals,blurred intentions and hidden agendas.


I hid.


I went to rehab.


I got “painfully” honest.


And I got clean.


And then I really hated myself.


Now,I was alone. No family,No friends, No idea what the hell I was doing. And I was angry and scared.


I let my anger drive me, and it has.


I got my kids back.

Jumped through hoops so well I pissed my worker off.

I hit their level of expectations and smashed goals like “The Kool- Aid man”.


I gained a “Shit-ton” of weight.


( *Thats a real unit of measurement in my book.)


Ive had 6 heart attacks in 10 years and I have congestive heart failure along with Wolfe Parkinson’s-White syndrome.


I got mad when I found out I was dying and decided to get healthy. So Ive lost over 220 pounds and 118 inches over-all.

To me, its still not good enough.


I need to be skinnier, more toned,more muscles.


Ive tried starving myself,throwing up,water pills,laxatives,every pill,powder,crunch bar,wrap,detox drink mix,diet plan and work out regimen that there is and its never enough.

(*Remember I said I was an extremist)


I still see myself as this nasty,fat,sweaty slob of a hot mess.


And I can’t make it go away,not even with all the make up tutorials on YouTube.


I have PTSD and night terrors.

I have severe panic and anxiety issues.


I bought a house with a 20 year mortgage and paid it off in 10. Another instance of extreme.


Bought vehicles and did the same.


Upgraded everything in my life. Including a husband.

Had another baby.

Made new friends, lost new friends. Made enemies along the way.

Also solidified friendships.


And I still view myself as a failure from time to time.


I never feel as though I “deserve” anything good in my life. I never think I am “worthy” of anything.

I feel like my entire life is a punishment for a error in a previous life.


And I doubt that will ever completely go away.


I am mad at myself,driven by anger,enslaved by rage,dragged by disgust and embalmed in embarrassment.


My “inner” anger has made me numb.


It has made me empty inside.

I only allow people to get so close before I shut them down or out.

Even my own husband has a short leash with my love.

My own children were not allowed the luxury of complete love from me.


And there is nothing left in there for myself.


But I do try.


I let others teach me.

I try to be reasonable.

I try to be thoughtful of others.

I try to be logical.

To stay in the moment and remain humble.

I try to not “assume and pass judgment” upon others without knowing all the facts.

To love others as I want to be loved.

To trust.( and that is really hard.)

Maybe how I view myself will change one day. But like Rome, I didn’t destroy myself in one day.

Maybe one day when I look into a mirror or catch my reflection in a window I’ll won’t heave a heavy sigh, Hang my head down and allow a tear run down my cheek.

Maybe one day.


This entry was posted in Bitterness, Coffee, Coffee, Life, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s