This blog is my therapy, it's not for you.
This blog helps me cope, it's not for you.
This blog is mine, not for you.
This blog is about me, not you.
I don't name names.
I can't help it if people who are familiar with my situations can put two and two together. I can't. I could sensor myself, and write only that which won't be upsetting or controversial or deals with others, but then I'd only be posting Abbey and Maddy stories, and that's not why I started this.
I write this blog because I have no one to talk to. I don't have a single person that I can talk to and share my deepest darkest thoughts with, without wondering what they secretly think about me.
Be aware, I'm about to name names.
Julia is my very best friend in the whole wide world. I can call her at 3 in the morning and she'll answer the phone and listen. I can call her and ask her to walk to New York to catch a show and she'll grab her camera and we'll go. She'd do anything for me if it was in her power to do so. But when I'm sad, and depressed and I can't think and I'm miserable, I feel guilty for making her sad. I feel like I'm a bad friend for making her sad. I feel like she's afraid to reciprocate and tell me her sad stuff because she'll be afraid I can't handle it.
Daniel Patrick is my husband. I adore him and I can't imagine anyone else in the entire universe more perfect for me. He's confused by me and my moods, and he openly admits that there is a certain week every month that he avoids me like the plague, but he loves me. He's also broken hearted and sad and really struggling, still, to make sense of all we have lost. I can't bear to dump more pain and hurt at his door, it's selfish.
My mom, my sister-in-law Jen, my brothers, my sister, my aunt, Holly, Gretchen, Kerri, Gretchen, Angie, Andi, Angie, Jennifer. There are many wonderful people I could call and talk to. I KNOW THAT. But they each have their own burdens to bear, they would each have their own thoughts about whatever I'd say. I don't want them to think less of me, or that I'm losing it, or that I'm already crazy, so it's much easier for me to put on my game face every day and head out the door. So when it all gets to be too much, I dump it here. I don't care who reads it. If I put it here, I don't want to talk about it. If I put it here, it stays here. It's not something that's up for discussion. Imagine that this is my little pink box. I would hope by now that people who love, care and respect me would respect that. If I could afford my own private therapist, I would do that, but I can't, and this really works for me, so I plan to keep doing it. I won't burden my friends family and husband with my pain, it's mine to deal with.
So it belongs here. I'm sorry if there are those of you who feel the need to discuss among yourselves, what I write about here. Sorry that you feel the need to speculate about the specific people and events that I have written about. I'm sorry that you can't see this for what it is. Something that helps out someone who is sometimes so overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she's lost that she can't see straight. Someone who still wakes up to the cries of her daughter in the middle of the night. Someone who sleeps next to a lovely caring man who still has nightmares about being unable to save his daughter. So if you can't respect the pink box, then just leave it alone.
This blog helps me cope, it's not for you.
This blog is mine, not for you.
This blog is about me, not you.
I don't name names.
I can't help it if people who are familiar with my situations can put two and two together. I can't. I could sensor myself, and write only that which won't be upsetting or controversial or deals with others, but then I'd only be posting Abbey and Maddy stories, and that's not why I started this.
I write this blog because I have no one to talk to. I don't have a single person that I can talk to and share my deepest darkest thoughts with, without wondering what they secretly think about me.
Be aware, I'm about to name names.
Julia is my very best friend in the whole wide world. I can call her at 3 in the morning and she'll answer the phone and listen. I can call her and ask her to walk to New York to catch a show and she'll grab her camera and we'll go. She'd do anything for me if it was in her power to do so. But when I'm sad, and depressed and I can't think and I'm miserable, I feel guilty for making her sad. I feel like I'm a bad friend for making her sad. I feel like she's afraid to reciprocate and tell me her sad stuff because she'll be afraid I can't handle it.
Daniel Patrick is my husband. I adore him and I can't imagine anyone else in the entire universe more perfect for me. He's confused by me and my moods, and he openly admits that there is a certain week every month that he avoids me like the plague, but he loves me. He's also broken hearted and sad and really struggling, still, to make sense of all we have lost. I can't bear to dump more pain and hurt at his door, it's selfish.
My mom, my sister-in-law Jen, my brothers, my sister, my aunt, Holly, Gretchen, Kerri, Gretchen, Angie, Andi, Angie, Jennifer. There are many wonderful people I could call and talk to. I KNOW THAT. But they each have their own burdens to bear, they would each have their own thoughts about whatever I'd say. I don't want them to think less of me, or that I'm losing it, or that I'm already crazy, so it's much easier for me to put on my game face every day and head out the door. So when it all gets to be too much, I dump it here. I don't care who reads it. If I put it here, I don't want to talk about it. If I put it here, it stays here. It's not something that's up for discussion. Imagine that this is my little pink box. I would hope by now that people who love, care and respect me would respect that. If I could afford my own private therapist, I would do that, but I can't, and this really works for me, so I plan to keep doing it. I won't burden my friends family and husband with my pain, it's mine to deal with.
So it belongs here. I'm sorry if there are those of you who feel the need to discuss among yourselves, what I write about here. Sorry that you feel the need to speculate about the specific people and events that I have written about. I'm sorry that you can't see this for what it is. Something that helps out someone who is sometimes so overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she's lost that she can't see straight. Someone who still wakes up to the cries of her daughter in the middle of the night. Someone who sleeps next to a lovely caring man who still has nightmares about being unable to save his daughter. So if you can't respect the pink box, then just leave it alone.
Just know that people are so out of the real world...you know your true friends and the people who share your pain and sadness..it will take time for you and duffy, but you will make it' in all the sadness and loss, you will keep the memory and the loss and thats okay..just keep on and know how many people love you and your family...its so hard now but you will make it thru this really tough time....life is a give and go and you will be given the love from your friends..huggs forever..
ReplyDeleteI understand that writing is therapy, I understand that you could talk, cry for hours if only someone was to listen but as best friends, family its hard to bite the tongue when we all know the "game face" is only the surface and beneath that is a loving soul striving still to make sense of such tragedy. Sometimes its hard for us to watch both you and Duffy struggle but it is also why we all stand togeather around you both as your Team Izzy supporters, your family your friends. We will always be here for whatever, when ever you pick up the phone and say "Hey, got a minute?" Love you both and am always there for both of you and the girls. Love M
ReplyDeleteDitto. love you! <3
ReplyDeleteKerri