Cracks

When I read news stories like the current hot topic of the Orlando astronaut caught in a love triangle I cringe.

For just a moment, I understand the power of the emotions that snapped her sanity and led her to behave like a maniac.

Then I mentally pat myself of the back. Having heard her story, I can believe that I was pushed harder and worse than she was by jeff and I haven't gone serial. I have to imagine the strains of her career had a part, but it still makes me realize how much damage the nastiness of a broken heart can do to a person's mind.

I had TIVO'ed Superbowl just to watch the commercials. I've been watching it a few minutes a day (with my limited time) and today I reached the half-time show. Prince. Jeff's all-time favorite. When he broke into Purple Rain, the tears came.

He hurt me so much.

It's not the break-up. Let's face it, he may have pushed me to it, but it was still me who ended it. I called it. I announced the time of death.

It's how many lies he told me. It's what he took from me. It's how he handled it all. It's how he tortured me. It's how he told me that he never loved me and he only used me.

Those are the thoughts that drive me to pray for his gruesome death.

I have a thread more of sanity than the astronaut. I wouldn't do anything because I like to think I am better than that - sure I fantasize about causing him extreme harm - but I can't read a local news story about a fatal accident or a death without hoping with all of my heart for just a moment that he was the victim. The thought that scares me the most is that I often wonder if I will be able to find peace as long as he lives. The idea that if he was dead I would be free and feel like justice had been served.

I hate that I even have those thoughts, but they're there. Ugly, but real.

Wish him well? Not a fucking chance. With his history, his past and his continued behaviors (which I will keep quiet about but I am aware of) he is a threat to everyone he meets and I can't help thinking it's akin to OJ Simpson walking free. The damage he does to people that put trust in him is huge. Knowing him well I can honestly and objectively tell you that every person that has ever placed a degree of trust in him has been hurt - either financially or emotionally.

Moving on.

I'm still feeling the stress. The pressure on me is intense. I'm exhausted 24-7 and I am dying inside because my entire existence is about rush, rush, rush to work, work, work. I can't cut back my hours or take a break because even one break could mean my move gets delayed and part of the pressure on me is the pressure of not having my own space.

I know I have bitched about my living conditions before but you have to understand they're really bad.

I share my childhood bedroom with Taylor. It's tiny and with the few pieces of furniture and my work desk I have in it - it's so cramped and crowded that it's like living in a box filled with junk. There's no space to put things, so most of our clothes and belongings are in small piles on the floor.

My stepfather is an alcoholic recluse. He smokes about 3 packs a day. I wake up feeling like I can't breathe. He doesn't cook and doesn't own any pots or pans so I can't cook either. Jeff has my cookware.

The bathroom is in disrepair. The shower leaks so badly we have to rush through a 2 minute shower at low pressure. The bedroom door doesn't properly close and the large window faces a street and the blinds are thin, bent and broken so Taylor and I have to duck down to change or else we can easily be seen by everyone.

The neighborhood is in awful shape. A heavy rain and a roofing issue condemned 6 of the 8 units of townhouses where we live. The neighbors are hoodlums. The kids get out of school and stand out front smashing plastic hubcaps or screaming or loitering. Young, thug-like kids walk the streets at all hours of the night. At any time you can hear them shrieking and talking loud or fighting out front.

I hate it. I feel like I am in prison.

I appreciate my stepfather taking me in because I had nowhere else to go but I hate it.

I sleep less than 5 hours a night. I work 16 hour days. I eat on the run if at all.

I feel like I have been sick for months. If I stopped to feel anything I am pretty sure I would collapse.

I'm worn about as thin as a person can be worn. I feel like a natural disaster encased in a thin plastic bubble and I keep marveling that it hasn't popped and unleashed holy hell upon the world.

There are moments I wonder if I will snap and the world will read my blog to understand how I went insane. When the newspapers talk to the family of the astronaut I find myself wondering if my blog will someday be used to put together the pieces of my own mental breakdown.

Tomorrow marks 3 months since I broke up with Jeff. And 2 months since I moved out. They say time heals everything.

I'm still waiting. I'm not healed. My pain has only shifted to something dark and full of anger.

Isn't that worse?

As an avid reader of other blogs, let me stop the commenters with their helpful counseling suggestions right here. When would I go and how would I pay for it?

And to be honest, having to open up to a therapist and talk about all of this would be like opening that bubble I mentioned.

Do I keep my emotions bottled up? Hell yes. If I didn't, I could singlehandedly bring about the apocolypse right now.

Somedays I feel like if I opened up and let it pour out of me it would be like the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when they open the ark and blinding death screams forth melting the faces of the watchers.

Somedays I feel like I am trying to hold back a tsunami of a flood behind only the power of my hopes.

Somedays it's so strong that I feel like I could look into Jeff's eyes and destroy him with simply the force of my hatred, without lifting a finger. I think I could just glare at him and turn him to ash. He's damned lucky he doesn't have to face me because the look in my eyes alone would probably make him wet himself.

My body and my mind need to break down and relieve this pressure, but I can genuinely say that I fear for mankind if I ever did.

Right hand to God, it is only my love for my daughter that keeps me from letting loose.

How can I let go if I can't let it out?

All that keeps me somewhat together is having to keep moving for my daughter. If anything ever happened to her...

Well, I'd suggest people run starting with Jeff.