Tag Archives: fear

Tattoos and Suicide Series: The break(ing) of me

So I have been running and not taking a break. I have been struggling my way through explosive meltdowns, tantrums, blackout rages, and frustration.  I felt it this week. I was there. Lost in the hole in my heart and in my head. Wanting something, anything to fill the void. I was hurting but I had and still have NO idea why. I am the one who always finds the sunshine. But right now. I just don’t know how much more I can take before I break myself. I tried to leave. I packed all my stuff. And I started to walk away. Because not only am I now dealing with this pain, his pain and my own, I am losing my shit on our son. He deserves the very best me and lately all he has is the worst. I am really trying and I knew the road ahead would be tough. But still, I could not have been prepared for the rollercoaster this has been. I have days where I walk on eggshells, I can’t really TALK to him anymore. Because he can’r remember anything, and he stresses out so easily.

And in all of this, I am losing myself. I know this because of an injury my son recently got. He fell and hit his head. It was an ER worthy injury. I prepared to be mommy and do it all when a little voice said to me “I want dad instead please” and my heart shattered into a million pieces. I was so happy he has accepted our new routine. I work 35 to 40 hours a week at 3 jobs to keep us going right now, KP does all the homeschooling and most of the parenting) But him not wanting me, and him being more afraid of how I would react about him not wearing his helmet than his injured head made me see I am on a spiral I need to get in check.

About every 4 or 5 years I have a break. A serious fuck it all snap out. Usually I know it is coming, and usually I can plan and prepare for it. Usually I can see the warning signs. But once, I couldn’t. On that day, my ex came home to hear shattering glass, and he followed the trail of broken plates, cups, mugs, and pottery on a trail to the basement. It was flecked with ketchup, and he thought it was blood. I never was allowed to buy glass ketchup bottles again. I had broken every single piece of glassware in the house. It was everywhere. I was sitting at the bottom of the basement steps staring at nothing. I had no idea what had happened. I was just. There. I don’t remember much about that day. It was one of the few times my ex did something decent. He cleaned me up, cleaned the glass, bought us all new plastic dishes. I worry now, watching my husband. Seeing his black outs. Feeling his anger when he can’t stop the mood swing. I do not worry he will hurt us. Thanks to the nerve disease, he has no strength to do so. But I do worry terribly about what will happen if I snap back.

I have a child now. I have too much to be thankful for. But I feel like I am being come at in a million directions. I feel like I have no control over this situation, and even though I seemingly live my life like a humming bird, I do in fact have a rhyme and reason. I do think things through and plan and manage. But I can not control this. And that scares the hell out of me. Meds help. But he is still so unstable. I also worry one day I will find him gone. He says he is no longer suicidal, Hurricane needs him. Great. But what about the days he feels like a burden since he can’t contribute to the house? What about the days he can not even get out of bed?  I am tired of being scared. And tired of being so wrapped up in my worries for him that my son is getting the heat.

I hit my break today with Hurricane. He got mouthy about me asking him to change his shirt because what he had on was not ok for being out today. He snapped at me and eye rolled, the whole 9 yards. So I told him he could stay with his dad and he lost it. Grabbed me and sobbed like he would never see me again. I wanted to and needed to stick to my guns. But I saw this broken little face. Who I could read was saying he needed me. The old me. The fun me. I just need to figure out how to be super wife and take care of my husband while also being super mom again. I just hope I can make my cape big enough to do both.

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The tattoo that saved a life… Tattoos and Suicide Part I

For every bad thing ever said about a tattoo, I always defended the form of self expression. And from this day forward will never tolerate hearing any malice towards the art form or those who perform it. All because of this.  A tattoo saved my husbands life.  A simple tat. Just a name, just an arm. And it saved his life.

Long time followers of my Facebook page are aware, we are personal friends with some amazing tattoo artists. A family run operation, our friends Shane, Samm, Vicki, and Athena run Thurmont Tattoo, located in Thurmont, Maryland. When they were local to us, we would have them over for dinner, have home tattoo sessions, stop by the shop just to say hello. We still call them to celebrate our family triumphs, our tragedies  and our best and worst moments. Over the years, they became not only our ink artists, but friends, and now they feel like a part of our family. They are perceptive, warm, loving, and amazing. And they gave my husband the tattoo that saved his life…

My story… After work, two weeks ago. 

13 missed calls? How did I get 13 missed calls? What on earth could be wrong? From her cell phone? Oh lord. She is in the hospital again. Oh god, maybe it is my husband. His breathing is not much better since he got the bronchitis. He was supposed to start his night shift again.  Please god let him have made it to work alright. Calling her. Straight to voicemail. Why? Try again. Straight to voicemail again.  Ok. Call his work. He called out sick. Maybe the bronchitis got worse. They tell me his mom called and said something about the hospital. Ok, so he is in the hospital. Call my roommate to see if he can watch Hurricane. Mid call. Call waiting. Oh god it is mom. Let him be ok. 

Hello? Mom? What’s going on? At the Emergency Room? Why? But? He did what? Wait? WHAT? How? No mom, I am not ok hearing this. Well I will be. Will they let me see him? He is where? I mean WHICH emergency room?  But how? And he called you? OK I am on the way.

Suicide. He attempted suicide? But why? How could I have missed the signs? How is he doing? How will we recover as a family? What will this do to our family unit? Is he going to be ok? How did I miss it? He seemed fine. Tired. Stressed. But he just recently started to see a therapist. She put him on a medication. Maybe the medicine is making him worse. I hear that can happen. He is supposed to be getting better.  It could be nothing. Sure. That is it. The medicine. It has made him worse.  Oh lord, if our son had found him. If he had been successful. How DARE HE? Our SON would have been the first one to find him. I would have let him take the keys and run ahead of me into the house to see Daddy when I saw the truck home. That prick! I wonder…How did he try? Why? How did I miss the signs? His mom couldn’t let me talk to him. Oh god, I hope he is ok. Please, lord. Let him be ok. I can’t…Oh my. I almost lost my husband. Oh lord PLEASE not my husband.  Thank god he called his mom. Why didn’t he call me? Let me check my phone. Ok he did try to call me. Why didn’t I have my phone on me?  Why wasn’t this a day where I left it in my pocket?  I hope he is going to be ok. Oh lord. Please give me strength. Please let him be ok. Please. Let him be. Just let him be. Let him be strong and alive. Let him be safe. Let him be in my arms. I am going to punch him. Our son…that prick! But he is alive. Thank you lord, he is still alive. He was not successful. Oh god. How did I miss this? How? 

Drop off the kid. Get my laptop because I know hospital TV sucks, he might be bored.  Plus my page and my internet friends are my escape. My safe spot… Pull the roommate aside. Fill him in. I gotta get to the hospital. Call his two best friends. They are brothers to him. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN HE TOLD YOU HE TRIED THIS ALREADY LAST MONTH!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!??????? And I am just now hearing about this? FUCK BRO CODE. Fuck him saying he would see a shrink and then doing it. Yes, He WAS going to see a doctor. But still. How could you not tell me? This is fucking serious. YES you needed to tell me. I have to tell the doctors. This changes everything. He might not get to come home now.  OK. No time to fight about this. I will deal with you later.

REWIND: THREE YEARS 5 MONTHS – KING PIGZ STORY
Samm:  Listen, bro, I think you should get your son’s name down as part of the sleeve we are starting on your forearm instead of your back.
KP: Really? I was thinking I would put it on the shoulder as part of the back piece we are starting
Samm: I really think it needs to go on your arm. You should have the most important things in your life front and center. I really feel like this is a better idea.
KP: You are the expert, man.  Ok. Right there. Top side of my forearm. Let’s do this.  
(The tat ended up being Hurricane’s name down his forearm, and the birthday on his wrist like a bracelet)

FAST FORWARD-2 WEEKS AGO
King Pig stands in the kitchen. Holding a knife. He can’t take the pressure. He feels useless. Alone. Hopeless. He stands over the sink. Knife in hand. Tired of being in pain. Tired of feeling alone in a house and world full of people. Tired of feeling like no one cares. Tired of not understanding the fear that grips him on a daily basis, the thoughts that race through his head.  Tired of feeling like a burden because I am doing it all at home. He holds the knife in his right hand and reaches his left arm out over the sink.  Suddenly, while turning his arm over to get the correct angle on his wrist, he catches sight of the tattoo. The one he was going to have put on his back. There it was. Front and center. His son’s name stares up at him, in the same shade of deep red as the blood he was getting ready to spill. He stops. His son. He knows since losing his own father last year just how bad the pain is of losing a parent. His son. 5 years old. Would never recover from this. His wife. Me. He wonders how I will get by without him. He stumbles. He drops the knife into the sink. He hits the floor and fumbles to find his phone in his pocket. In tears, he tries to get someone on the phone. Anyone. First me. No answer. I am at work. Of course he can’t reach me. I am working. Teaching. My phone is in my bag while I am with my students. He panics. Considers grabbing the knife again. Runs his hand up and down his arm over his son’s name, there, in bright red ink. As red as the blood he was about to spill. He fumbles with his phone again. This time, he reaches his mother. He starts to cry. Through his tears she hears the words. Suicide. Pain. Help. She calls him from her cell on call waiting. She keeps her cool and keeps him on the phone. Talks to him the whole way down the highway to our house. She arrives. The normal 25 minute drive takes her 12 minutes. She begs him to get in the car. Tells him she will call the police if he doesn’t. He gets in the car. ER. She calls his doctor while she waits. No answer. They take him back. The frantic calls to me begin. But thank god he is alive.

A tattoo saved his life. The next several months will be filled with appointments. Pain. Healing. But a tattoo saved his life. And I will never. EVER. Be able to thank Samm enough. A simple conversation and decision. It saved his life. Thank you lord for bringing us to the shop for the first time 3 years ago. Thank you for your guidance and for inspiring Samm to make the choice he made. And thank you for keeping my husband on this earth. I would be lost without him. And I will forever be grateful for the tattoo, that saved his life.

Inked The first letter. Samm, no matter what happens in your life, please know this simple bit of ink, will have more impact than anyone could ever know. We love you.

Part II of this healing journey has been written and can be found here:
https://momtroversial.wordpress.com/2013/06/22/a-tattoo-and-suicide-more-than-just-you/


in 5 to 7 Business days…My journey begins….

I am scared to death. But I am ready to face this. And for the first time ever, I do not feel alone.

I had considered trying a new workout plan and gone over so many with my nutrition counselor before they tried diagnosing my condition. (I have something similar to Crohn’s disease, but with enough differences NIH doctors want to know what makes me tick) I was looking at Yoga because of my nerve issues. I needed something low impact and I read about DDP Yoga.  But I shoved it aside and continued fighting through surgeries, job losses, losing my father and FIL in under a years time, more surgeries. Years of health issues have made me sedentary, inflexible, and just… well… FAT. I have been working so hard to change my life, and I see myself and see I can not show the change of who I am inside without taking the outside on.

All the downtime and the lack of energy and strength made me sad. I found inspiration in humor, and I started my own Facebook page (where many of you follow me and my co-admin) when others told me to try. I am a writer, but I was scared to death. Who would want to hear what I have to say?  But, I have found myself with a new network of support, thanks to the social outlet of Facebook. Over 7000 people have decided to “follow” me.

I regained confidence in my personality, but I still hate how I look on the outside. I posted a photo of myself on my fan page, after almost a year of hiding in the shadows like the Wizard. It was a big day when I showed all my “followers” who I am, I was shocked at the support. I felt so much better about myself. And I also realized it was time to make a drastic and dramatic change. Enter Monday night Raw.

I had forgotten about DDP and the program. When he made the appearance on the show I was motivated to look again. And suddenly it hit me. Looking at the videos and seeing all the people who were wearing the gear for the program.
The main focus of the program is not “lose weight”. It is not “get skinny while I make millions” It is this….

OYL. – OWN YOUR LIFE

I have NOT been owning my life. My life has been owning me. I watched the videos and when I saw Stacey’s transformation, I was able to set my mind fully. Her first part of her video struck such a cord with me. I too,became the names.

Something I wrote during a bad thunderstorm the night I decided to take control of my life again…

A song says “I’m on the outside looking in” and that is how I feel
Losing me, inside of myself, I do not know what of me is real.
What I see in the mirror is not who I am, I want to know who that person could be. Time for me to step up in my life, time to return to ME.
I have proven myself a survivor, risen from the ashes again and again.
Now I need to be stronger, find something lost deep within.
Somewhere within the folds of this skin, under the scars and the pain,
I am still in here somewhere, time to find myself again, wash it away with the rain.  I have found myself in a place of success, and been supported like never before. All I have to do right now is put my feet on the ground and dare to open the door.

My wonderful husband is being my biggest supporter. My anniversary gift from him? DDP Yoga was ordered for me, because I am not working right now and did not want to buy it til I found another job. And he will be doing it with me on occasion, because it is DDP. So here we go…journey to a new me starts now. I hope I can do this! No wait. I KNOW I CAN DO THIS. I am OYL, no water or rain of sadness and lifes little dramas will bring me down.

©Momtroversial 2012/ NPR072312733A


Life As a Scale

I am a Libra.  As a Libra I am often drawn to the scales.  I have realized in many ways, life is a scale. Each and every event or action in your life affects its balance.  You can not live a perfect, balanced life, unless you experience both success and failure. You can not have a balanced love if you have not experienced the pain that often comes along with it.

Life as a scale is kept in balance with a series of memories and dreams. Each memory and dream or wish for the future is a weight that gets added on to one side or the other. Negative and positive.

When I found out my father was dying, I had to face that scale head on. The good times and happy memories were overshadowed and outweighed dramatically by the bad times and the harsh realities of life.  I had been through a lot with my father, I had a great childhood but my teen years were very rocky. He had no idea how to raise a teenage daughter. And with my mom working all the time, I felt like had no one to turn to many times.  In college, I made some stupid decisions, which he gave me a “told you so” attitude on. Once I got married (‘to someone not good for me’) and became a parent, he was constantly telling me I was doing it wrong. ALL I could see was that scale was sliding to the negative.  And at one point, I even found myself saying, I wished the cancer would do its job faster.

When I said those words aloud, I was smacked in the face. Literally, by a good friend of mine. She reached up and bitch slapped me like I have never been smacked before. Even left a hand print on my face. I was a scrapper as a teen, and my normal reaction would have been to lay her out. But I was in utter shock.  After I was able to regain my speech, I asked her what the fuck she had done that for. Her explanation was simple.

I would regret saying it. If she had had the chance to get her mother back for even 5 minutes, she would be happy. Because it would give her a chance to say all that was left unsaid.

Her mother had passed away about 4 years prior. She explained, at first she had no regrets. Her mom had been horrible to her in her early childhood and teen years. But, she found herself missing her mother every day. I did not understand why, and she told me,  after she had children of her own, she found herself doing things with the kids her own mom had done with her. Happy things.  She also found herself parenting her daughter in a completely different manner. She was more positive.  She began to see, the power of a negative thought can be so much stronger than the power of a positive one. I ruminated on this for days after our talk. It was hard not to think about it with a sore jaw.  I had a revelation. I would sit down with my father and talk to him. Try to release those negative thoughts.

The bad side of my life scale was being added on to by resentment, regret, anger, fear, repression. I was going to calmly and nicely tackle those head on before he died!  On a visit down to see him, before I was quite ready, he challenged my parenting style one time too many and I SNAPPED. It all came down to feelings.  Those emotions took on a whole new meaning for me. I opened my mouth. I told him every last thing that had ever been on my mind.  How if made me feel to be in good shape but be told I was fat. To get on A/B honor roll and be asked why I did not get all A’s. And more intimate arguments I won’t air out in a blog.  He offered me a glimpse into his childhood I never knew before then. And I realized why he chose to raise me the way he did. The balance shifted. It was not how I intended to approach him. In the end it was a raw, emotional experience. But it hurt about the same as that slap in the face had!

Once you put FORGIVENESS, love, strength, accomplishment, and openness on the side with the happy memories, even if few and far between, the scales become balanced and the weight of your life just…slips away.  I found that happiness and joy far outweighed  those negative emotions once I was able to let them go.

Be thankful every day, no matter what, for the people and the experiences you have had in your life. No matter WHAT the outcome, without that past, you would not be who you are choosing to be, nor do you have the same future.  Sometimes the scales slide out of whack. But without that past and without some forgiveness, I would not have the most important things in my life. I would not have experienced a life worth living IN not just for. I would not have my husband, my son. My entire world. Thanks for reading.

Famous Quote: Resentment is like taking poison yourself and waiting on the other person to die…


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