hate

Leaving comfort

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I’ve been trying to start caring about my appearance again. Ever since I left serving for working from home, I began gaining weight. I wasn’t running 10,000 steps (according to my fit bit) in two hours anymore. Instead, I got up, put on my most comfy clothes, made the kids breakfast, maybe brushed my hair, and sat down for work for the rest of the day.

After a while, I hated seeing myself on camera. I started getting in trouble with my superiors when I started to claim my camera wasn’t working.

Before long, I gave in, keeping my camera on for every meeting. I hated how sickly I looked, I had long bags under my eyes the size of tangerines, my skin wasn’t just pale, it was a sickly grey, my pink lips were now devoid of color, and scabs covered my nose, chin and forehead where I had begun nervously picking. I covered up my chest as best I could where the picking had become even more sevier. My hair was greasy from the lack of showers and laid flat across my face.

I dreaded even going into work. The last ten years had weighed heavily on me, and working overtime from home was the final nail in my coffin.

I hated every aspect of my job. I felt as if I spent all day arguing with people. Each one told me they hated our product and I convinced them it was all worth the cost. And worst, we competed for the best numbers in persuading them to keep and upgrade their purchases. 

I felt disgusting inside and out. I started thinking of any excuse I could possibly think of to stay in bed. I was actually happy when I caught covid for the first time and took as much time off as I possibly could. I wanted to hide away and do absolutely nothing at all. So I did.

I stopped doing anything. All the effort I had put into keeping up on the apartment vanished overnight. I would sit there, internally screaming at myself to move, but I was frozen in place.

And then my cat Dominique got sick. One day, I found him in the kids’ room, and I immediately knew something was wrong. His skin was a dark yellow, his hair was listless, despite his large belly, I could see his spine, and he drooped lazily in my arms.

We quickly took him to the vet, who confirmed something was very long. He either had liver cancer, which would require months of chemo, or he had an inflamed liver, which would require weeks in the hospital with an I.V. Either treatment would cost thousands, and both had an incredibly low chance of success. It was also impossible to tell which treatment he needed without an MRI.  Which would also cost one thousand dollars that we didn’t have.

I immediately started bawling when I heard the word tumor. Erik had to take the phone from me to listen to the rest of the information. When he relayed everything, I cried even harder as I realized there was no way we could afford any option. And worse, I couldn’t put Dominique through chemo. Not when he wouldn’t even understand. Not when he would suffer so much.

“It’s okay,” Erik said. “Let’s get the MRI and go from there. If it’s the inflamed kidney, then let’s go for it.” 

I was shocked, “Are you sure we can afford it..?,” I hesitated.

“I’ll make it work,” he said. I think he sensed that this would finally do it. This is what would break me. And for some reason, that was comforting to me.

“Okay,” I said. We scheduled the MRI for the very next day.

That night, Dominique passed away in my arms. What surprises me the most was not how much I cried, but how much Erik cried. I wasn’t sure if he was crying more for Dominique or for me.

I applied for two weeks’ leave from work for depression the next day. I hoped I could feel better with some time off, but the closer I got to going to work again, the more I panicked.

I had spent so long doing everything I hated that I had missed out on everything I had ever loved. My kids were nearly out of elementary school. I had missed so much of their lives. The most precious years. If I hadn’t been working so many hours, would I have noticed something was wrong with Dominique sooner? What if this had been Erik? What if this had been the kids? I quit my job that day.

Today, I am looking at clothes online. I’ve bought dresses and bras. Though, it was a mistake starting with push-ups.  I want to be so different from who I was, that people realize how far I had truly fallen from who I really am. I want my kids to grow up thinking their Mom was the best and know without a doubt in their minds that I love them. It’s not easy, I’m still struggling in so many areas, but I’m not going to give up.

So everyone will know.

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Why do you blog?

Mental illness changed my life and the way I look at suffering. It turned me into my absolute worst self, someone I detested. More than that, it was the journey that led me towards that depression.

For years, I struggled, fought, cried, and crawled to make sure my family had a secure future. I stopped caring about my appearance, I stopped caring about our apartment, and I stopped caring about going out. I became more secluded over the years until I had completely locked myself away from everyone. The only thing that kept me going was my kids.

When I started having memory problems during the pandemic, I finally reached out to a therapist for the first time. I told him everything I could think of from the get-go. All I wanted was to get better. Every appointment was over the phone. I would set anywhere from 10-15 alarms, and I would still forget about every appointment.

My therapist told me that if I missed another one, he would cancel our sessions. I begged him to call me instead. I explained how difficult it had been to remember much of anything.  He told me, “If you can’t remember, we’ll give the time to someone who cares enough to remember.”

When he finally let me go, it felt as if I would never get better. It became harder to even hold on. The image of my kids wondering why their Mom didn’t love them enough to stay popped into my head. So I kept trying.

One day, I sat down and tried to sort it all out. Why am I this way? When was the last time I was happy? How much of this is from abuse, neglect, or being overworked?

The words started spitting from me, writing out every event happy or sad. Little by little, I began remembering strength I once had and what had covered it up.

I came to realize how horrible the support networks for mental illness are. Not to mention how impatient everyone was for my recovery. As if coming back from anything so horrible could happen in mear days. Or weeks. Or even years.

I’m still trying, even now. Recovery is day by day. Little by little. But I can feel it happening, and I can see it in the eyes of my children.

How far you’ve gone

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

You talk about how far I’ve gone, I dont clean like I used to, I dont cook like I used to. I don’t even play or love like I used to. But why is how far I’ve fallen all you can see?

Why do you always talk about these things like they just happened overnight? Why do you complain about me as if this weren’t the result of something larger? Is there truly something wrong with me? Do I not deserve the same love and patience?

I’m cleaning more now, see? Why haven’t you noticed? Im playing with the kids, cooking their favorite meals, and shopping. Will it never be enough?

I can feel your families eyes on me, its hard not to notice your sisters rolling their eyes. Was it something I said? Or something you told them?

I can feel the shackles trying to form, fastening themselves out of paranoia and low self-worth. I feel desperate, I want them to like me. I want them to see that I’m improving, so I talk about all the things I got done this week, proudly boasting that I cleaned the living room and about all the fancy dinners. As if it’s anything to brag about at all. The looks on their faces tell me its not.

I hesitate when silence breaks the conversation and smile when my niece giggles. I ask to hold her.

“She’s a little grumpy today,” your sister says and gives her to your Mom a few moments later. Do they think I don’t notice?

“You know, I’m home all the time these days. I could help watch her anytime,” I keep trying.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, but the look on her face says it won’t happen in a million years.

When will it stop being about how far I’ve fallen? How much have you complained about me? Why can’t they see this didn’t just happen, I didn’t just break. I was broken. And still, I’m trying. I AM getting better. Instead of talking about my struggles, why can’t you support me and talk about my triumphs?

I’m sorry, it takes me a while to process these things. I write about this small blip even as it happened months ago. I never knew what it meant to me.

Shattered

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I couldn’t do it all on my own anymore. I had been overworked for nearly nine years, running on the most bare minimum of sleep before rushing to work.

Make the kids breakfast as quickly as possible, hop on the computer for work, try to keep the kids quiet so I didn’t get in trouble again, only fifteen minutes to make lunch for everyone, back to work, get off in time to put the kids down for bed, two hours later they are finally down, still haven’t had dinner but need to clean. 

“Erik, could you please help me catch the place up a bit?” 

“I already made dinner, and I need to study.” 

“Oh, okay, right.” Why can’t anyone just clean up after themselves? When I make lunch, I put everything away, I throw away the trash, I rinse off the dishes. All while I wait for it to finish cooking so it takes no extra time, what was so hard about that?

I glance in on Erik. Rather than studying, I find him playing State of Survival. Frustration surged through me. My entire day was non-stop stress piling up on itself day after day after day, yet I never got help when I asked for it. “His day is stressful too,” I tried pushing the resentment down.

Each day was a copy of the last. Wake up, work, fight with kids to be quiet, clean, and get only a few hours of sleep. “At least you’re keeping up better than before,” I told myself.

Working from home was supposed to help my back pain, no more heavy lifting from my server days. But as it turns out, working in an office chair for hours on end only puts more pressure on your spine.

I thought I was finally doing better. But the pain was coming back, and it was becoming difficult to clean again. Again and again, they promise that things will get better. “When we move to Chicago, you won’t have to work so much. Carrie and Saul will offer more support with the kids than your parents have, working from home will be good for you,” but nothing ever changes. It’s the same pain, the same stress, the same hectic life in a different box.

I decided to eat something before cleaning this time, I didn’t have time to make lunch for both myself and the kids. I sit there, staring at another disgusting mess, knowing I’ll do this all again the next day. And the day after. And the days, weeks, years after that. And a weight decends upon me and those all too familiar thoughts of suicide awaken again.

“Erik, do you think you could help me with the cleaning tonight? I’m just…so tired.”

“I’m sorry, love, I have a quiz in two days. I need to study more.” He turns off the game on his tablet and carries it into our bedroom.

Maybe just one day off would be okay, I tell myself. I sit down and relax for the first time in a few weeks, watching anime.

But the next day, it’s even harder to motivate myself. The mess is larger, and Erik still can’t help. I do my best, but the pressure is still building. The feeling that things will never change starts to hook its claws in me.

That night, I stared at the mess. All I wanted to do was sleep, but the mess was there, forcing its guilt on me. I don’t want to do it. What I want to do doesn’t matter. You have to take care of the kids. Things will get better eventually. No, they won’t. You’ve been telling yourself that for nine years now. Has it ever gotten better? You’ll be doing this for the rest of your life. You could ask for help. No one will ever help you, you know that. You will be ignored.

Tears begin flooding down my cheeks, dripping down onto my T-shirt. Hearing my sobbing, Erik turned away from his tablet to look at me. “What’s wrong?!” he asked earnestly, getting up from his chair to sit beside me.

“I can’t do this anymore. Nothing ever changes. We never go anywhere or do anything. All I do is work, clean, and fight with the kids. I never have any fun, I never do  what I want. And worst of all, I’m failing at  all of it. I know I’ve complained about my Mom before, but she at least gave me a clean home to live in. She made sure I was fed, that I went outside to play. I can’t do any of those things. I can’t even bring myself to clean this stupid kitchen anymore,” it all exploded from me in a flurry of words. I was uniquely aware of snot dripping down over my lips, making me feel even more disgusting.

Erik pulled me into his chest and held me  close. “I know,” he whispered, “just try to remember I only have one year left. It won’t be this way for you for much longer. The next chapter of our lives will be all about you.”

Rage exploded from me, “That’s a lie! I’ll have as little choice in what I do then as I do now! Every step of the way you tell me, ‘it will be easier when…’ But that never comes! It didn’t get easier when we moved to Chicago. Instead, I lost all of my friends, all of my family, and I became completely secluded. It didn’t get easier when I stepped down from management to be a server. Just look at me, Erik! I can’t even stand for more than five minutes at a time anymore without being in pain! I look like I’ve been aged thirty years, not ten! Even now, I’m struggling just as much as I always have. And what’s supposed to be different after you graduate? I can do what I want? How? Who is going to take care of the kids while you’re at work? Are you going to call out sick when the kids are ill so I can go to school like I had to all these years? Are you going to keep up on the cleaning so I can study? Or when I say go to college, do you assume it’s just to learn something neat? Not for a careet like you? Do you honestly think that you could do what I’ve been doing this whole time? I didn’t think so!” My eyes widened with shock as I finished, I hadn’t realized how much resentment had piled up within me.

“I know this has been hard. All I can do is promise that what comes next will be about you. And that things will get easier. You won’t have to do anything you dont want to,” Erik said gently.

Hysterical laughter burst from so deep down I barely recognized it was coming from me. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You dont have to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.

I fell silent. I was vaguely aware that Erik was saying something. Those words, those awful, wonderful words kept circulating as if I had never even heard of such a marvelous concept. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.

Erik shook me gently. He was saying something. But I could no longer hear him. Because if I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to then… I could do what I wanted to do for so very long.

Give up.

Midnight reflection

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Late at night, while the world slept, I would find myself drowning in self laothing, pain, and the sweet release death would bring. It was as if an anvil had been placed on my heart, dragging me down, burying me underneath its massive weight.

I would contemplate what it would be like, what I would do if I did kill myself. I imagined a gun, and the moment the bullet pierced my skull. I saw it so clearly I could almost feel it. And it felt blissful. It felt like freedom.

Thinking of my kids helped stay my hand. I knew they would be better off without me. I knew they would lead happy lives. But, they still saw me as their Mom. They didn’t realize what a burden I really was. To them, it would be as if I had abandoned them, given up on them. They would wonder why they weren’t enough to live for. I could not let them live with that guilt.

It was getting harder to rationalize, even if the kids didn’t realize the fact remained; they would be better off without me. So wasn’t it better to just get it over with? No, I couldn’t do anything that would hurt them. Not in any way.

I decided to reach out to a suicide hot line and found that they had an online chat. Perfect, this way no one would hear me.

“Please help me, I don’t know what to do. All I can think about is killing myself. I’m so tired, I’m in so much pain, I just want it all to stop. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Hello,” they responded, “it sounds like you’re going through a rough time. Can you tell me more about it?”

“Yes, I’ve been trying to get my husband through school. To do so, I’ve been working until four in the morning and waking up with our twins at six. I also work in the restaurant industry, so there is a lot of heavy lifting involved. My back and feet hurt all the time, and I don’t even have time to see a doctor. I just need… time.”

They took a moment, little dots showing up to tell me they were still typing. “That does sound hard. It sounds like you’ve really been burning the candle at both ends. When you say you need time, what do you mean?”

“I need time for myself, time for my kids, time to clean our apartment so it’s not complete trash all the time, I need time away from work so I can rest and recover, but I can’t have any of that. I don’t have the option to quit my job or even to take the time off for myself. I’m trapped.” I was so overwhelmed just talking about it, so consumed in grief, frustration, and anger that I was shaking as I typed. Tears dripping onto the screen of my phone.

“I see what you’re saying, ” they replied, “isn’t there anyone who can help you so you can take the time off you need?”

“No,” I said, “we don’t have anyone like that. I’m the one who provides for our family so my husband can go to school. I don’t get vacation days at my job, so any time I do take off is unpaid. Aren’t there any programs that can help me? Anything at all? Maybe a facility I could go to?”

They replied quickly, “Of course, we have several facilities you could check into. I can provide their information if you would like.”

I hesitated, “If I do check into one of these facilities, is there also a program to help provide for my family in the meantime? Or a program that would provide child care during the day? I can’t just leave them without any income.”

The small dots appeared again, this time for several minutes before receiving a simple reply, “No, I’m sorry. There isn’t anything like that.”

I wanted to scream, I really was trapped. There was nothing I could possibly do to escape without being a burden to those I loved. Both my death and my life were a waste. I typed, “Thanks anyway, I know you tried your best,” and closed the chat. There was no point anymore, no point in anything.

No, I needed to hold on. I tried to remember my strength, how I never gave up on anything. Once I set my sights on something, it may as well already be mine. I was the only one who could do this. No one else could go all this time on so little sleep. I had to remember… I was a warrior.  So please, I begged myself,  just hold on.

The monster within

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I was struggling. Really struggling. I had finally gotten a job working from home, it was supposed to make things easier. No more working till four in the morning just to rise with the children two hours later. I’d finally get time with Erik, with the kids. I’d finally be able to keep up.

That’s not how things worked out, though. The years had worn on me, I could no longer sleep at night no matter how hard I tried, no matter the medications I was given. The damage in my spine and feet remained, nothing to be done. I had gotten out too late.

Working from home had its own stresses. Breaking up fights between children, hiding it from my clients on the phone. Timing my fifteen minute breaks to when the kids got out of school, praying that my call wouldn’t go over. Needing to remain the top performer, layoffs had started. I could not be one of them. And of course, I still needed to keep up on the apartment.

The twins had been arguing all day, I was constantly muting and un-muting my headset, trying to calm down the children. Trying to pay attention to what the customer was saying amidst screams. Only for the fight to continue five minutes later.

“Listen, you need to make sure you’re in a quite area during your calls. If this keeps up, you’ll get a wtite up. Three write ups and you”ll be let go,” my boss stated frankly. A white rage started boiling inside me. Keep it together. It’s just a bit longer.

My last call of the night went an hour late, and Erik wasn’t going to be home from school for a while. I’d have to figure out something for dinner.

Walking into the kitchen was like stumbling on a squatters den. Dishes piled up, trash on the counters and floors, and all the progress I’d made the night before was erased, like I had never cleaned anything at all.

The living room was even worse, Kaylee had cut up at least fifty pieces of paper into confetti and spread it everywhere. Evan had taken the cards out of four different board games and left them in bunches on the floor. Hot pocket packages had been left out and torn to shreds by the dog. It looked like the world’s worst bachelor party.

“Are you freaking kidding me, you guys?” I gestured to the room.

“What?” Kaylee asked.

“Um, this mess? Did it even occur to you to clean up after yourselves, or did you consciously decide to leave it for me to pick up?” I could feel the rage again, a white static sizzling under the surface.

“I’m SORRY,” Kaylee whined, slumping down into the couch.

“Sorry, Mama,” Evan said blankly, continuing to watch YouTube.

“Well, come on then. Get up and get it cleaned.”

“You mean ALL of it?” Kaylee moaned.

“After dinner,” Evan never took his eyes off his tablet.

Breathe. “No, now. While I make dinner.”

I put the corn dogs in the oven and started working on the dishes. Not even two minutes had passed before my back began to ache, attempting to pull me to the earth.

“Mom, Kaylee isn’t cleaning!”

“Nuh-uh, Evan is telling me what to do!”

“Both of you, stop fighting. Kaylee, you clean up the paper. Evan, you clean up the cards and trash. There, it’s fair for everyone.”

Kaylee threw herself onto the floor, “but that means I have to clean more than him, thats no fair!”

“Well, Kaylee. You made the bigger mess, I call that pretty fair.”

“Nuh-uh!”

I clenched my jaw. Just breathe. “Kaylee, please just get up and clean. Mommy has had a long day, my back is killing me, and I really just need your help.”

“Evans not even cleaning, so I’m not going to clean.”

I banged my fist on the counter and bit my lip. “Kaylee, Evan, clean now! Do not make me ground you!” Please, don’t.

“This is all YOUR fault!” Kaylee screamed, pushing Evan to the ground. Evan shrinking into a ball and screaming.

“STOP!” It exploded from me like a flash of light, every muscle in my body ridged as if strained from holding it in. The cup in my hand shattered, cutting my finger. My breath came out in thin, quick whistles. My mind raced, every thought muffled in a searing white haze.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! You do realize you would already be done by now if you just shut the fuck up and did it already? Or better yet! Clean it as you make the mess so you don’t even have to bother! But no, you have to be fucking selfish and throw fits until I finally give up and do it myself. Well, you know what, I can’t anymore. I’m done! I can barely stand at the sink for five minutes! I’m broken, okay?!”

The twins were huddled together, crying.

“Just get up and fucking clean, that’s all you need to do! It’s that easy!”

Still, they didn’t say anything, just huddled together. Terrified. Terrified of me.

“Just GET OUT!” I roared.

The twins ran to their room, screaming and crying. I realized how terrifying I must have looked, how angry, how furious. Blood still dripping from my finger. I must have looked like a ravenous dog. Fangs bared, steam rising off drool and tears as they dripped from my gaping maw.

My rage folded on itself, going deeper and deeper. Reflecing on itself. Reflecting on me. I fell to my knees, put my head in my shaking hands, smearing blood across my face, and screamed until there was no more breath to give.

Spontaneous Suicide

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

About a year after I moved out of my parents’ house, I began to feel depressed. I was lonely.  Every night, I would come home, sit on my couch, and play League of Legends. For weeks at a time, my life was work and video games. Nothing else.

There was a time that I spent every night with my friends, but over time, we began to become distant. I loved my friends. To me, they were there more than my own family had been. I was struggling with this sudden distance.

One night, I had a sevier asthma attack and realized I had left my inhaler in Steven’s car. It was late, so I tried to slow my breathing and just breathe it out. But my lungs became tighter and tighter.

Finally, I gave in and called Steven, but it went to voicemail. So I sent him a text: “Hey Steven, I’m having a super bad asthma attack and I left my inhaler in your car. I’m super sorry, but can you please bring it up to me?”

Minutes went by with no response. My lungs got tighter by the second until a small check mark showed up next to my message. He had seen it.

I waited patiently for twenty minutes…thirty minutes…an hour. No response. I was starting to panic now, and I couldn’t go to the hospital. I already owed a mountain of debt from previous attacks. Why was he ignoring me? Did he not care? Maybe he had just clicked on it and didn’t actually read it.

I called again, straight to voice mail. I texted again: “Please, Steven, I’m sorry it’s so late, but I really can’t breathe.” Again, that trusty little check mark popped up, and again, no response came.

I remembered he was supposed to be spending time with our friends Squee and Koby. Squee was one of my best friends, maybe he could help me get ahold of Steven.

I called, and almost immediately, Squee picked up the phone. “Squee,” I gasped, “can you please get Stev-” Laughter exploded on the other end of the line. The call ended.

Why? Why didn’t they care? Had I done something wrong? Tears and snot were streaming now until my breath was coming in shallow sobbing gulps.

I propped up some pillows to recline backward and remain elevated. Soon, I succumbed to exhaustion and passed out. Waking every thirty minutes or so, gasping for air.

After about the third time waking this way, I tried to fight sleep. I was scared. What if I fell asleep and never woke up? I texted Steven one more time, “Please, Steven, I don’t think I can last like this. I’m suffocating. I need my inhaler.”

As I was about to drift off yet again, the door of my apartment flew open. Steven barged in, throwing the inhaler at my feet, “There’s your fucking inhaler! Did you really have to call me a million times?!”

I sucked in the deepest I could from the inhaler, “I’m sorry,” I coughed, “I couldn’t br-breathe.”

“Do you realize this is why no one wants anything to do with you? Do you know what your friends say? They say you’re too much trouble! And you know what, I’m starting to think your family had the right idea when they kicked you out!”

“Please,” I sobbed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“How about let me spend one night with my friends without calling all of us constantly?! How about stop calling us all together? Your family already can’t stand you, my family can’t stand you and now your friends are ready to leave! You’re worthless!”

I couldn’t breathe again. It was different this time. My breaths were coming in fast. Too fast. Thoughts raced through my mind, barley tangible yet full of impact. It was happening again. They were leaving me again. Everyone always leaves. Because there’s something wrong with me. They don’t want you here. They don’t want you in their lives. They want you gone.

It was then I saw the knife on the table. A steak knife. Sharp. Steven was still yelling something, but time had slowed, and I could no longer hear him. 

Only a few seconds had passed, and suddenly, I was staring at my wrist. A thick cut carved through it. How did the knife get in my hand? Blood. There was blood dripping. It was running down my leg. Not enough blood. There should have been more. I hadn’t cut deep enough. I knew it almost immediately, but I felt no relief.

I was vaguely aware that Steven was hitting me, as hard as he could, left to right. I couldn’t feel a thing. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I could breathe.

I am a warrior.

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I was in the sixth grade when my parents took me and my brother to a school fair. Our school always put on impressive fairs, lots of games, dunking the teachers, and I almost always came home with a new pet fish only to have it die a few days later.

That year, they had brought in a new attraction. A gladiator jousting inflatable arena. Two people would enter and climb onto their own pedestals. Each would get a long stick and fight to knock each other off their pedestal.

I rushed to get in line. Looking around, I could see a lot of high-school students in the crowd. I felt a bit nervous thinking I would have to fight people twice my age. I was always the strongest in my class. I won every arm wrestling competition, playing mercy, or race. Sometimes, I would play with a stick in the backyard for hours, swinging the stick like a sword. But to beat a high-school student in a competition like that? It was going to be hard.

It was my turn now, I entered the baloon like arena to face the previous winner, a twelve year old freckle-faced boy. “Okay, I got this,” I thought and placed my feet shoulder width apart, ready for the go-ahead.

“Go!,” the ref shouted.

I thrust my stick forward, aiming for the boys chest. He blocked me and jammed his stick back at me. Running my stick along the side of his, I did a quick spiral and twisted the stick from his grasp and pushed him from his perch. The crowd cheered, I had won.

My next opponent was a high-school student at least twice my size. He had broad shoulders and wore a black tank top with jeans. I squared my jaw and planted my feet firmly, ready for a hard fight.

He started aggressively, and I blocked each attack with equal force to prevent falling back. I was getting the timings of his hits down. Hit hit, hit. Hit hit, hit. Hit hit, now! I moved to the side of my pedestal, dodging his next blow and impeding his balance. I swept my stick from the side to finish the job.

The next five matches went more or less the same way. Soon, there was a crowd cheering me on. It was such a rush, the adrenaline, beating kids twice my age. I felt unstoppable. 

Until a five year old girl was lifted onto the stand. I played along with her, pretending like she was hitting me right in my weak spot. It was hard for her to even lift the huge stick, so I moved to the very front of my pedestal to make it easier to hit me.

Bam, “Oh no!” I yelled as I fell, “you got me!” The ref came and held her hand up in victory, and her face gleamed. This was a different kind of rush, a better one. She was so happy.

Making my way off the arena, I found Mom and my step-dad Bob waiting for me.

“You were incredible!” Bob yelled.

“There were kids in line that literally left because they didn’t want to fight you. High school kids!” Mom exclaimed.

I blushed, “I know, it was awesome!”

Driving home, I felt an absurd sense of pride, I was the strongest. I was a warrior.

In the hours after

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

The slam of the door left a dull sound echoing as Erik stormed out. Kaylee’s cries seeming to carry it through the apartment. I held her, my poor little girl who could not possibly understand what was happening. Or why. I barely understood myself.

“Why would you make daddy leave,” Kaylee cried, “that is such a mean thing to do!”

“I know you don’t understand sweetheart. You might someday. For now…just know that Daddy did something to hurt Mommy. And Mommy just needs some time.”

“What did Daddy do to hurt you, Mommy?” Evan asked, crawling into my lap with Kaylee.

Erik hadn’t had the nerve to tell them what he had done. He had no conscience when it came to having an affair…but when it came to looking our children in the eye and telling them what he had done, he had not been able to stomach it and told them simply that he would tell them someday. But then again, I didn’t have the nerve to tell them either.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” I told them both. I probably never would. Destroying how one looks up to their parents was a concept I was all too familiar with. I didn’t want to be apart of that process for them.

We cuddled there for a while in a silent numbness. Eventually the kids, being resilient as children often are, got up and started to play. I laid there, huddled under my blanket. Trying to block everything with sleep, unsuccessfully. Instead, I watched them play. Silently crying, wondering if our family was about to break.

It wasn’t long before I needed to get up. Needed to move. So I cleaned everything in sight. I scrubbed the walls, cleaned the dishes, mopped the floors, picked up the kids room, until there was nothing else to clean. The only thing left to do was to unbox my new computer for the dream job I had been longing for since the kids were born. A job working from home, where I could be with my children and my husband. A job that was supposed to fix everything. But nothing was that simple. How could I start a new job in the morning with everything going on? How was I supposed to put on a smile and pretend to be a cheerful woman excited for a new adventure? I huffed at the boxes and decided to ignore them. Unboxing them would mean moving forward despite everything. I wasn’t ready for that.

I plopped back down onto the couch, but it wasn’t long before my thoughts started to over take me again. I needed to talk to someone. Anyone. But it was still early in the morning, which meant it was even earlier across the country where my family and friends were. I messaged my Mom and my friends anyways. Hoping someone was awake. I stared at the screen, my foot tapping impatiently. Nothing.

I fell back on the couch exasperated. Suddenly realizing just how alone I was here. It had been hard, moving here for Erik’s school. But before, at least I had him. Now, I had no one to turn to. No one to occupy my time with. No one to talk to. Erik, at least had his sister. I scorned him for bringing me here. For doing this to me when I had no where to escape to. When I had sacrificed everything; my home, my dreams, my family. Just for him to cast me aside when it had all finally become too much for me to endure. I wondered what excuse he possibly had to give. If any excuse he had could possibly be enough. I doubted it.

I slammed my fist into the pillow next to me. As if that could make me feel the least bit better. I couldn’t wait any longer. I stalked into my room and closed the door so the children couldn’t hear me before dialing my little brother Austin’s phone.

“Hello?” He answered, sounding as if he had stayed up all night playing video games again.

“Hey Austin, I am so sorry to wake you up this early…can you grab Mom? It’s important.”

“Yeah, one sec,” he mumbled, sounding somewhat annoyed.

After a few minutes of shuffling noises and static Mom answered. “Hey, what’s going on?” She asked.

“Hey, Mom,” violent sobs started to take over me the moment I heard her voice. I suddenly remembered all the times Mom had told me she thought Erik was just using me. Taking advantage of me. And now, despite always telling her she was wrong, I was about to prove she had been right all along. I hated that almost as much as what Erik had done. “Erik’s been having an affair,” I choked.

“What?!” she yelled. She sounded genuinely surprised. I had half expected an ‘I told you so.’

“How do you know?” she asked.

I told her everything, how I had seen the Just for Us page up on his phone. How I had recognized it was discord, then found the channel on his lap top. How they spoke of loving each other, how Erik had consoled her and told her they would get through this. I was blubbering through snot and tears by this point. I felt like a child running to their mother after getting a scraped knee. No amount of kissing boo boo’s and band aids would help this though.

When I was finished recanting the mornings events, Mom went quite for a moment before stating “you’re coming home.”

For some reason, it wasn’t until that moment that I truly realized the implications of exactly what was happening. Was my marriage really ending? Was I going to have to move back home in shame? Was I going to have to raise my children by myself, without them ever truly understanding why we had run far away from their father? Would they resent me? Were these past six years of toture for nothing? How would this affect them…?

“I can’t Mom, he’s their Dad” was all I could say. I felt as the figurative key turned, locking me into the cage that was now my life, and again I cried.

The night before

theuglyboudoir, , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

The night before my life was turned upside down, you never would have guessed my family was about to be run into the ground.

It was Halloween night. Kaylee looked absolutely gorgeous in her Rapunzel costume. Evans Mario costume was a bit too tight for him, but he loved it so much he didn’t care.

Photo by paul voie on Pexels.com

We sat on my sister-in-law Carrie’s back yard patio chatting and drinking a beer my brother-in-law Saul had given me while the twins played with their cousins Henri and Yvie.

Erik laughed at something on his phone. I adored his laugh. “What are you laughing at?” I asked playfully.

“Nothing,” he said bluntly, “you wouldn’t get it.”

“Hey now,” I said rubbing his leg, “you never know, I might get it.”

“Its nothing, just an eye joke one of my classmates sent me.” He was going to school to be an optometrist.

I could tell he didn’t want me to push the topic, so I dropped it. Now, I want to punch myself in the face every time I think back to this specific moment. How did I not see this coming?

The rest of the night progressed without fault. We took the kids trick-or-treating around the block. Making sure to only visit the houses who had safety precautions for the covid pandemic.

I had gone into this Halloween expecting to be disappointed, but I was astounded at the lengths the neighborhood had taken to make this holiday safe and fun for the kids. In fact, they got more candy than they had any other year.

Once the kids started to complain that they were cold and tired we made our way back to Carrie’s and Saul’s where they immediately dove into their treasure trove of sugary treats. It wasn’t long before a sugar craze ensued. Kids running around like wild animals while we talked and played games.

“How have you been doing lately,” Carrie asked.

I had been struggling with depression for the last few months, the pandemic not helping matters. Recently I had met with a doctor (finally) who prescribed me anti-depressants. “I’ve actually been feeling a lot better, almost normal in fact.”

“That is great to hear! Just keep at it and it won’t be long before you are back to your normal self,” Saul grinned.

I hoped that they were right. For the entirety of the seven years of my marriage to Erik, I had somehow been able to juggle everything. I worked 60 hours a week, did all the cleaning, made breakfast and lunch for the kids before going to work. All so Erik could make it through school. But ever since we moved across the country, just the idea of getting up and taking a shower drained me. It was like wading through cement all day every day.

Soon, the kids sugar rush had drained. Their excitement and fun quickly turning into screaming tantrums. We gathered up their candy and their toys and packed the belligerent kids into the car.

It was late by the time we got home, so we gave the kids hugs and kisses. Had them brush their teeth, and go to bed.

I was excited to spend the rest of the holiday with Erik. Maybe watching a scary movie. Halloween was my favorite holiday after all. Instead, Erik plopped himself down in front of his laptop. His prime position for when he didn’t want to be bothered.

“How would you feel about getting us some drinks and spending time together?” I asked.

“Not tonight.”

“Okay, we could watch a movie together. Take it easy.”

“You know what, I’m actually really tired. I’m just going to take my laptop and watch some shows in bed till I fall asleep.” With that he gathered his things and went into our bedroom. Closing the door behind him.

I put on my headphones, listening to Hamilton, wondering what it would take for my husband to want to spend time with me, before finally carrying myself to bed early in the morning.