Been wondering where I’ve been? I’ve been everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

Today is a strange day. It’s also National Ugly Christmas Sweater Day and we all wore something to work to commemorate the occasion. I made (technically a sweatshirt) the Christmas Vacation Fried Cat sweater. Google it. I bought a small battery-operated pack of lights and attached them to my sweater and it made me giggle like a school girl when it was done.

This is the time where emotions run high and I’m learning that I’m not exempt no matter how hard I try. I drove to work today in my Christmas sweatshirt, listening to the radio and Eminem’s When I’m Gone came on and I’m listening because I’m a fan and then I’m pulling into the parking lot at work and getting emotional because. Because. Eminem is MY age and has been around longer than my son has been alive. Longer than my little brother. But when I hear him I think of my son. A lot.

So I’m sitting in my car and the tears are pushing through my eyes because it’s so raw and I can relate to it in so many ways. I’m feeling raw right now. I’m feeling reckless. I’m feeling like I don’t give a shit about anything and I don’t care.

Todd would care. He would be upset that I’m not thinking about anyone – especially him – while I throw my life away, self-harm and all, when HE needs me. That’s the selfish part of me. I get in this frame of mind and I’m drinking and abusing myself and not caring what happens to me and not thinking of my parents or Todd. I’m not thinking about my kids, either. Because they are gone from my life. They don’t care.

Circling back –  I go inside the building with my sunglasses on, to hide the red and watery eyes. The day gets better. I’ve worn my homemade Christmas sweater and everyone has theirs on and it’s all so funny. Apparently I missed a great thing yesterday involving a slippery “snowperson” who gets hidden every day and the person who finds them wins a prize. The snowperson was kidnapped yesterday (my day off) and there was this huge “drama” that was hilarious, including a “proof of life” which was ultimately a quarter cup of water. See? We’re all a little special here.

Fast forward an hour or two. I got a call that hit me sideways and I’m really not allowed to talk about it so let’s just say that the parent has been through some hardships that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Hung up the phone and rested my head in my hand. My heart is so heavy today. I went to talk to one of the nurses about who to direct the call to and I’m leaning against the wall crying.

I’m an asshole. There are people who are WAY worse off than me and I know it. My own family member cannot – not ever – reconnect and fix the relationship they have with another who passed away first. I feel this on a visceral level that I don’t talk about. BUT. Sick me thinks, just wait til I’m dead and they can’t come back and make it right. They will be so sorry.

Open the news feed. Matthew Perry’s cause of death reported by the toxicologist. Oh Matty! How could this happen?

What happens when Tara comes home all emotional and having all the feels after a long day at work and no one is home? I posted the song on Facebook. I jumped on the treadmill and ran until my heart rate passed 160. I thought about what would happen if my heart just stopped. I think about these tragic things sometimes.

I think about how terrible it would be for Todd. Todd – who has loved me a lifetime and without conditions. He says no one would care if he was gone (well, besides me). But he’s wrong. Neph was here last night to celebrate Todd’s birthday and he doesn’t know that he is a gift. (I will elaborate on this momentarily.)

My parents. MY PARENTS. I’m a parent – so I do know a bit about the devastation one can feel over a child. I’m my mother’s only child. I would never want her to feel the loss of her “sweet girl,” would l? My dad has two – me and my resilient and wickedly brilliant brother. Surely Matt would make up for my loss, no?

How bad must the erosion on the inside get before I can’t take it anymore?  I’m not so far gone to let myself fall that far. But, like so many others, I know what it can feel like. I am self-destructive right now.

Are you happy? Would it make the victory sweeter if I died? Who will they blame then?

Those two kids who watched years of anger and abuse – will they ever recover? Will they ever remember the truth or are those memories forever hijacked into an alternative reality?

In the end, it doesn’t really matter….

I may never get back what I lost. But – my faith is stronger than the demon who stole it all away.

God saw everything that happened to you. He knows what was unfair. He knows how you were treated. Nothing is a surprise to Him. If you keep moving forward, He’s not only going to bring you out, He’ll bring you out better.  ~ Joel Osteen #797

The gifts He has given me – given us – come in many forms, including the presence of a young man and young woman, who have filled the void left by the two who were manipulated out of my life. Those two kids, and a handful of others on the periphery, have made this life better in ways they cannot begin to understand. And I hope they never do.

So many people are hurting today and that knowledge does not make me feel any less alone. It makes me feel sadder than ever. There really isn’t any solidarity in shared pain. Being who I am lets me see both sides of the coin – I see what I am and what I have and I also see that there are people in the world who have it far worse than I ever will.

Who am I to feel this way? Who I am to cry and drink myself stupid when there are women and children halfway across the world being shuttled from place to place under the shadow of gunfire, subsisting on pita and praying they don’t die before they get free?

I don’t need an intervention. I don’t need your text messages, comments, or phone calls. I also don’t need to see the look in people’s eyes when I tell them my kids don’t talk to me, with a shrug of my shoulders and an appeasing smile. How they just don’t know what to say. I can see the shift in their eyes while I make it alright, because I have faith in my almighty God.

I will recover. Again. I always do. I didn’t claw my way out of a decade of abuse just to throw it all away like a football team throwing the game to the other team.

I’m allowed to feel with all the pain and the anger and the grief and the rage that lives inside me every hour of every day. And then I’ll stand up, brush myself off, and break out that easygoing smile and quick humor that says I’m strong and resilient and I’ll be okay.