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Shannon
I'm a slightly mad pagan trucker with an unhealthy obsession with yarn.
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Sunday, September 25, 2011

Sometime it's not all about you.

WARNING: The following post is a letter to a friend in which I reveal a lot about myself.  I'm putting it here because if I call there will be more tears than there already has been and I'm not sure if an email will get read.  Fuck, I'm crying now and haven't even gotten to the hard part yet.  So if you would feel better about skipping this post, please do. If you feel the need to comment, please don't do it to put down the other person involved because that wasn't my intention by doing this.  I promise to return to my regular fuckery soon.





To Whom it may concern,

I'm sorry you're sick.  I'm sorry you're depressed.  I'm sorry you feel you're "broken".  I'm sorry that I yelled.

I first want you to listen to this song & know that this is how I feel about 50% of the time.



There are many days that the thought of getting out of bed & facing the world is just entirely way too much, but I do it. There are many days that I have to pull the truck over because I am crying so hard.  I stop, have my cry and go on.  Why don't I tell you these things when we talk?  Not because I'm ashamed but because I don't want people feeling sorry for me.  Some days I have called thinking maybe today I can tell her, but then there seems to be something going on in your life & you need a shoulder to cry on.  Did you ever think that maybe I need a shoulder occasionally?

All the times I have listened to you talk about your ex and the things that he did, sometimes you act is if you're the only person to have ever dealt with an abusive ex.  You know that I left WT because I wanted to get clean, but that's only part of the story.  I have never told my mother or best friend of almost 25 years the whole story.  The abuse didn't start until the last year of our relationship. The final straw came when he beat me so severely that I had a miscarriage.  I never even knew I was pregnant.  Of this I am ashamed. Not because he beat me but because I stayed.  I have since vowed that it will NEVER happen again.

Yesterday when were talking & you told me exactly how many pills you had available, how was I supposed to feel? What was I supposed to say?  You tell me things like this and I'm not sure what you want me to say or do.  Do you want me to tell you about the time last June I sat in the middle of my bed, with my .44 in my mouth, with the hammer cocked & finger on the trigger?  Do you want me to tell you that the only thing that stopped me from pulling the trigger was my niece walking through the front door & hollering, "Where are you Aunt Shanny"?  Why haven't I told you about this?  Is it because I am ashamed?  No.  I haven't talked about it because it's in the past.  I put it behind me & I've moved on with my life.

A couple weeks ago when I went out with my skirt wearing friend, instead of being happy that I went out and had a great weekend, you made me feel shitty because I wasn't there to answer the phone to try & make you feel better.  I know you jumped to the conclusion that we had sex but FYI, we've never slept together. Well we did share the same bed but that's as far as it ever has & ever will go. Why?  Because he's gay.  Although you may not have realized it you even made me feel bad for seeing my FWB in NC.  Sometimes I don't tell you things because in some way you'll make me feel bad for trying to have a life.

Why don't I ever talk about these things?  What good would it accomplish?  I talk to my therapist two sometimes 3 times a month.  Rehashing it with everyone is not something that I feel I need to do.  It took me years to realize I can't deal with my bipolar issues without help.  As much as I hate it, I am taking medication for it.  Granted it's an extremely low dose but it works for me & doesn't make me feel like a zombie.  My highs aren't too high & my lows aren't too low. I refuse to left my fucked up brain chemistry define who I am.  Some days it feels like you let your illness & depression define who you are & run your life.


Some days, like yesterday, being physically drained & not really feeling all that great emotionally, I just couldn't deal with the whole woe is me thing.  I'm sorry I yelled.  I shouldn't have.  Sometimes I feel as though you expect me to have some magic words to make everything better.  I don't.  If I did, I could fix us both.  I don't know how much damage I've done to our friendship by posting this but no matter what I'm not saying these things to be mean.  I just had some things to say.  To use the old packing a suitcase analogy, I'd packed and packed till no more would fit in & it all came flying out in just a few words.  Once again, I'm sorry.

Love,
Me

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