late night fights.

Last night was one of those sadly non-rare night where things went a bit nuclear in my house.  The little kids were off to bed so it was just the older kids up when I decided to take off.

I wanted to go to our camp; I wanted to not come back.  But I came back.  I’m sorry I did but I did.

What started it was a host of things.  Everything.  So many things.

Like the fact that my oldest daughter went out the other night and her father didn’t bother to give her a curfew.

Like the fact that my little girl’s medicine wasn’t totally filled correctly, and I didn’t know.  Not knowing means I have the call the doctor, wait months for an appointment, get grief because they hate refilling her medicine when she hasn’t been seen.

Like the fact that I am routinely used and under appreciated; my husband knows this and I am convinced he does not care.

I’d had enough, so off I went.

Into my car with the music blaring, driving and thinking about so much shit.

I have no health insurance because we didn’t take COBRA for me.  Now I have issues and I can’t address them.

I have a skin disorder that is nearly unpronounceable and no one has heard of.  I have had it for decades.  Just a few weeks ago, it began to inhabit both of my armpits for the first time since I can remember.  One has largely cleared up but the other armpit is a mess.  It’s open with sores and oozing and it stinks.  I can’t get rid of the smell.  The smell makes me sick.  Nobody cares.

Nobody cares that I just started my PhD classes and I kinda want to vomit.

Nobody cares that this house is an utter shit hole.  Nobody cares that I am watching kids all of the time and taking care of everything by myself now because of my husband’s “new job” at this terrible company.  Yeah, great new job, dude.  You just went back 10 years.  Quit pretending you have the drive and ability to do or be anything else.  You don’t.  Just get over it.

Meanwhile, I’m printing up paperwork to send to a district attorney so they can prosecute my sibling in about three weeks.  I have no other sibling; I am like an only child.

I sat last night, when I was alone and in tears.  I thought about this incredibly large bottle of pills I have. I thought of taking every single one of them.  They are so small; it would be so easy.  I would leave the bottle beside the bed, so that people would know what I took.  I would write my children letters.  Could I express to them how much I loved them and how sorry I was?

But I imagined them finding me.  Or I imagined going downstairs, in a messed up state, and asking my husband to get me to the hospital to pump my stomach, because of course I wouldn’t really want to die.  Wanting the nightmare to stop isn’t the same as wanting to die.  So I cast that thought aside.

It wasn’t this bad four months ago.  But it is now.  Fuck my husband’s ex-employer.  FUCK THEM.  Fuck my husband for letting this happen.  He got laid off because he was low hanging, weaksauce.  He allowed it.  He shouldn’t have.  He quit listening to me long ago.

For now, I want to focus on my PhD work.  That will give me enough to help me ignore everything else.  Fuck his career, it’s a paycheck.  And at least he’s gone most of the day.  Today that is such a blessing.  I am so glad he isn’t here.