The tires squealed as I jerked the wheel. The slick pavement of the interstate fought against my instinct. Left…no right. Metal crushed loudly and for a moment, time stood still on that dark, rainy highway. “I don’t want to die.”
In the rear view mirror I saw death and it was a spotlight on the fact that I didn’t want to die. Not today. I’m not ready yet. Nevertheless, I’ve heard that voice inside my head tell me in fact I do want to die.
To some this may seem like a no brainer and a forethought conclusion. However, up until now I have struggled with depression and the dark thoughts it summons.
In all honesty, I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve thought of the easiest way to end it all. In fact, this car crash thing seemed like an option at one point. Yes, I’ve wanted to die. Or at least I thought I did.
It sounds dramatic and completely ridiculous when I say it out loud. It’s complicated and extremely exhausting when you fight these inner demons. After all, that inner voice sounds like my own.
Am I alone in this battle? It feels like. However, I know that millions of people suffer from depression and suicidal thoughts. Hell, I have 4 people in my house that have depression. Depression is everywhere, in every social economic situation, every race, gender, religion, and sexual orientation. It does not discriminate.
The want to live came for me in a car crash that with the opposite instinctual jerk of the wheel could’ve sent me to the morgue. The light shining in my tear view was a semi truck waiting to plow me straight into the ground.
All of this to say I want to live. Furthermore I want you to live. I don’t want that desire to live to be in a near fatal situation or in the last moment after it’s too late to choose. That voice isn’t you, it’s the enemy. We have to fight it and keep fighting it. Even when we feel like we have no fight left.
I know it’s easier said than done. I take my meds, I do the best I can too, but some days it feels like it’s all just too heavy. Let someone else take that wheel. Pick up the phone, send a text, hell, call me. Seriously.
If nothing else I want to document that I do, in fact, want to live. This way the next time my demons come to collect my desire to keep on keeping on I can remember that for whatever reason, or by chance that someone, somewhere took the wheel for me. Thanks mom. 😇 And, yes, I do want to live.
My heart is broken. I am angry and sad. Tonight, my daughter {#3 of my threefold, age 11} wrote her letter to Santa. She admitted she wants a lot for Christmas, but what she wanted most was to be able to see her dad. This shouldn’t be a request, a gift, or even a thought. You would assume that it would be an easy Christmas wish to grant. However, it’s not. This is because her dad, is the real Grinch.
The man she calls dad is not going to see her this Christmas or any of the three daughters that bear his name. It’s sad. It’s sad, because while he lives and breathes and walks this earth each day, he has chosen not to be a dad. The calls are rare, the visits are nonexistent, and the manipulation is heavy. Instead, drugs and toxic cycles of abuse and manipulation are his legacy.
Snapshots of Dad
The man she knows as dad chose drugs over being a parent. He chose his own selfish desires over being a dad. He chose a life that has no place for children and no room for a relationship with them. Its sad. Tragic and heartbreaking. My 11 year old wants a dad that he cannot be for her or her sisters. She compares him to the grinch. Bad on the outside, but deep down he is good. However, no matter how much we struggle even in “recovery” he refuses to be a participant in parenting.
A year ago he had money to spare from his 100k inheritance and sat unemployed. He smirked as he bought a new motorcycle, drums, camera, phone, computer and the list goes on.He went on vacation and to concerts. He bought drugs and partied regularly. Meanwhile, I struggled to pay our rent and buy Christmas for my threefold.
6 months ago, he had already pawned everything he owned. The one thing he had left was the car that he traded his 2022 Harley in for. That car became his home. This man who had physically, emotionally and financially abused mythreefold and I called ME for help and because I wanted to be better, I helped. I checked him into rehab. Drove him to the facility and even bought him the things he needed. I housed his belongings and kept his friends updated. I had divorced him, moved on with my life, but still tried for my threefold.
After Rehab, I got him into a sober living facility. A week in and he left. He showed up at my door and demanded his belongings. I told him we were done. I stood strong as he towered over me in my own yard. I called the police and he left.
All of this followed by a week of hell and we were scared as he sat stranded without gas money just a few miles from our home. Finally, he was rescued by a friend and he left town. He had vanished 500 miles away to live with his younger brother on the opposite side of the state.
Wish Ungranted
Months went by and we hadn’t heard from them. Last month, he began communicating with #3, the only one that still has affection for him. The one that still wants to believe his lies and sees hope in his darkness. The one that sees the good inside the grinch. I wish I could fix the bad, but I can’t. Mom is not made of magic.
Now, this. A letter to Santa. After 28 weeks of combined trauma care and crisis intervention for my youngest two daughters. I work my life away to provide the life we have. Up to 50 hours per week, side hustles, and resourcefulness. I don’t receive financial support from the government, nor do i get support from him. This is my hard work, blood, sweat and tears. Its that of the man that stepped up. This is 50k in medical debt, scrounging for grocery and bill money, a vehicle with a blown engine and prayers for a Christmas miracle that includes gifts under our tree. This. A gift I can’t give. The Christmas wish I won’t be granting. Although she understands, she doesn’t see how much I want to give her the dad she needs him to be, not the grinch he chose to be.
Per the request of readers & followers of My Threefold donations for My Threefold can be made via cash app $mythreefold or venmo @my3threefold. ☮️❤️😊~M
I’m screaming. Why am I screaming? I know it’s not going to help. However, nothing I’ve done to this point has helped either. Here we are again. I’m sitting reading and re-reading the suicide note from my 14 year old daughter. Asking myself again, how we got here, what did I miss, and why she doesn’t want to be in this world anymore. I just want to stop the insanity.
Missing the Signs
I missed the Signs? AGAIN. She didn’t confide in me. AGAIN. I’m calling the crisis hot line.https://www.samhsa.gov › find-help 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline | SAMHSA I’m calling the psychiatrist. I’m calling out at work. She is bleeding. Inside and out. She is hoarding medication. Planning her suicide. AGAIN. She is deciphering if jumping off a cliff or overdosing would be a quicker way to end her existence. I’m lost. I’m confused. I’m angry.
Blame Game
I’m so incredibly angry. I’m not sure where to place my anger. Who can I blame? Why is this happening to her? To us? I choose to place blame on everyone, especially myself. I blame her, too, which isn’t fair. I bought the act. I handed her the weapon. I chose, yet again, to believe the pretty picture she had painted to cover her pain. I wanted so much to believe it. However, I should’ve known. Why didn’t I know? We’ve been through this before.
I Should’ve Known
I should’ve learned how to catch on quicker to the cover up. The first hospitalization in 2020 taught me to take it more seriously. The hospitalization in 2021, that lasted 18 weeks, should’ve been enough for me to understand the gravity of it all. After the hospitalizations earlier this year, I should’ve known that she would hide the hurt until it was nearly too late. Now, here I sit asking myself, what are we going to do this time?
What Now?
Another hospitalization, more medication changes, intensive therapy, inpatient, residential, intensive outpatient, or something else? There is no cure, that’s what she told me just last week. I know. I wish there was. In conclusion, I’m lost, but I’m thankful that I haven’t lost her to this battle.
Keep Fighting
Regardless, what the statistics say, I won’t stop fighting. No amount of money or time is going to stop me from finding her the treatment she needs. I’ll keep fighting her demons, and my own, for as long as I live. I’m not giving up. I’m never going to surrender even while I scream how unfair this is for us. My pain is no match to the pain she is living with. Pray for us all. Pray for #2. Pray for my threefold. Pray for this mom who is trying to mom mental illness. Together, we’ve got this. ☮️❤️😊~M
Welcome to Whinesday! If you don’t hear enough whining and want to hear mine, stay tuned. I had much different plans, but ya know life. It throws the punches and I get to ducking, dodging, bobbing and weaving. Then I fight back. I would much rather be celebrating a Winsday. Unfortunately, Whinesday wins this week. In conclusion, I need wine and to do my own whining.
I’m NOT Limitless
I’ve heard every whine and been given enough snarky attitude my teenage daughters and preteen could muster. Normally, I’d find some solace in a moment of silence. You know the one. The bargaining with God to just cut you some slack before you make those spoiled kids see that light. This is my personal “come to Jesus” attitude. It consists of the snarky remarks and quick wit aimed indirectly at their every pity party moment.
I’ll spare the aches and pains of teenage girl trauma, drama land that I have the pleasure of residing in on a day to day basis. My patience, and I believe my husband would agree, falls either at near saintlike or ‘b*tch I wish you would I’ll burn your mf’ing clothes…real talk’ Honestly I don’t have that middle ground. Once its all used up, it’s DONE and momma has no qualms about being that mom either.
Share the Love with a Mother!
This one is for my other mommas in current battle, in post victory <or defeat> and for the other mothers. I desperately need some judgment, encouragement, skills, classes or keep your sanity strategies to get my life out of fight or flight and back on the winning Wednesday side of this war against the whine!
Self Assessed Hot Mess
I’ve carved out my strengths and my weaknesses as a mom, woman, human. I’m not scared of self criticism. Honestly, I know I’m a hot mess riding the my threefold bipolar express. The ride ain’t easy, nor is this mom life we live. Help a mother out!
Strong as a Mother
Understanding and empathetic.
Sees the best in <most> people
Giving of myself…love, body, mind, spirit, money, blood, sweat, tears, peace of mind and sanity. Not to mention my socks, my hoodies, snacks, caffeine, mascara and other life sustaining mom necessities.
The fixer. The chaos coordinator extraordinaire. The ultimate unconditional love and support of a mom.
I work my a double the s off for the money to meet their needs AND their wants as often as I can.
I’m not asking for perfection just the R-E-S-P-E-C-T I deserve as the giver of life, love, financial support, Nike shoes and fancy salad lunches. Not to mention the very comforts these children have access to these days.
I’m ALWAYS there. Every game, concert, award, meeting, conference and appointment. They can rely on me to be there and if I’m not, there is someone I have assigned to my role for that day.
I talk, openly, about our past, the good bad and the ugly, whenever they need me to. I give them space and listen. I give advice.
I’m honest. There is no sugar and no pretend. I’m real. Authentic. Weird.
My home is open to their friends. If they are all at my house I know where they are and *mostly* what they are doing.
I value presence and time with my kids.
I am open to their thoughts, opinions, and views. I’m accepting of their personal views. I respect their feedback.
I am a mom who will fight for them, with them and sacrifice to make sure they don’t have more trauma to unravel later in life.
Fixer Upper
I am intolerant of lying. It’s a guarantee that I will second guess.
I overthink, overanalyze and overall am a bit dramatic.
My mood swings have moodswings.
I feed off the energy of others…good and bad.
I’m quick to get defensive if attacked.
I tend to see the worst case before seeing the silver lining.
I’m overly money conscious. You may get Nike shoes, but I’m thrifty. Coupons, hand me downs, thrift shops, and outlets are my options.
I procrastinate.
I hyperfocus on work.
I run myself down to the point I need to check out to check back in at times.
I cuss like woman who has worked with men and in construction her entire life. <I have and still do>
I’m easy on my kids. I hate long punishments. I back down or slack after a bit of time.
I do put them first, above anyone else…even myself.
I have the guilt of all of our pasts weighing on me always.
I have a hard time drawing boundaries.
So…I’m the mom who grounds you for a week and let’s up after a few days. I’m the mom who will give you all the rope I have then free you when tangled it. I let it slide, but then get overly upset when that slide gets too slippery. I love them enough, but feel like it’s not enough to make up for their pain. I’m the safe place, but I am worried that makes me more of a friend. I’m the good cop, the bad cop, the judge and the jury. With three girls I’m constantly told this one is not held to the same standard as the others.
It’s a never-ending back and forth power dynamic. I want what all moms want, right? Take care of your own stuff, take care of our stuff, clean up your messes, do your best in school, help out for the money you want to spend, and treat the people in your life with respect. That and peace on earth, the usual, no biggie.
That’s my long whine this Whinesday. However, I’m hoping to have a Winsday soon. I need a win for the home team, and this momma is tired. Mommin’ ain’t easy! Real talk. However, there is no give up or surrender for my threefold and I. We’ve got this! Withe some mom tribe tips of the trade I’m sure I’ll be back to Winsday in no time! Comment below your motherly words of wisdom! Message me on Facebook or send me email. Until next time! ☮️💙😊~M
Holding back tears I asked, “DOES she have SOCKS?!” This was my BIG worry tonight as we walked through Walmart at 9:00pm on a rainy, random Wednesday night. College. My daughter is leaving for college…tomorrow and I’m worried about socks!? She is 18, dreams of being a psychologist, and the world is at her feet. Me, I’m the mom worried about if she will have socks as she goes out to show this world what striving for success and strength looks like!
I looked to the man who is my calm in the storm, casually walking a few steps ahead, he nonchalantly answers “yes.” I questioned him again. After all, I knew nearly every day, no matter how many pairs I buy, my girls are going to come steal my socks. In that moment he looked at me and calmly said “yes, your baby has socks.” I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
Why was I crying in Walmart over socks? I’m sure I looked and sounded ridiculous. I was irritated. I was emotional. I was thinking about 18 years of time that came and went far too fast. I was happy and I was scared. So I was worried about socks. Silly, I was a wreck…but why socks?
It’s ironic, that a little over 18 years ago I was in labor. In fact, I vividly recall getting “new mom” anxiety at the hospital about socks for my new baby girl. I was asking the same question then as I was this very night. Of all things I was worried my baby wouldn’t have socks!
My mom rushed out to buy socks for my sweet baby and her tiny feet. In addition, she bought clothes to fit her tiny frame. My first was so little. My beautiful red haired, blue eyed, baby girl was full term, but weighed 6’8 and measured 17 1/2” long. So small. My first baby girl of my threefold, and my first true love.
Looking on as moms do, I saw my oldest daughter, with her two little sisters bickering. I laughed and tried to let them do their typical back and forth banter. I played the pull mom every direction and make sure she pays attention to each child. I tried to remain patient and calm as I listened to each tell me their “needs” or “wants”. My anxiety was growing, but not due to worry about her or even the other two of my threefold. I was forgetting something. Had to be.
As the night passed on I noticed my emotional state was becoming so high that I was becoming overly anxious. All the needs, wants and reminders flying around for all three girls. Then the little fights. As my anxiety increased so did my oldest daughter’s. I could see her feeling like she was getting “more” than her younger siblings. In addition, I could see her insecurity surrounding money start to make her flustered. As a result, I saw firsthand, that she was feeling all the anxiety I was trying to push down. Instead of her knowing why, I saw her viewing herself as the cause of every bit of my increasing anxiety.
I got her nearly everything she has needed over these past couple of months. We only have a few last minute needs to tie up. Yet, she still felt like she was causing my anxiety. That wasn’t it. Not at all. I was proud and wanted nothing more than for her to feel confident as she began college. Yet, I felt like I was failing her as our anxiety climbed together.
What I didn’t tell my oldest is that I wasn’t anxious over buying what she needed, her sisters bickering, or even the growing list. I was missing something, but I couldn’t place what.
This feeling was unshakeable. Maybe I was just being a mom and scared. However, I’m not scared of her making the wrong choices, failing, or getting into trouble. I know her on a level that goes beyond a typical mother/daughter relationship. We talk about everything. Above all, even if I don’t want to hear the truth, she doesn’t lie to me in the way most teenagers do lie to their parents.
Finally it hit me, right in that Walmart aisle and with those socks sitting on sale. I didn’t forget to make sure her feet were covered in clean socks. She had her toothbrush and pj’s. This went beyond the superficial level of material needs. I was forgetting the person who once inhabited that tiny frame.
She was moving beyond her past. I no longer saw a scared girl with anxiety standing in the aisles going through the mental checklist she made a year ago of everything she needed. I saw the person who had worked hard to find her own voice again. I saw a woman who was funny, kind, and a genuinely good person standing worried about her abilities.
My daughter deserves all things good. I want this for her and every good thing in life. She has sacrificed more than many. Furthermore, my oldest daughter has been my coparent even if she didn’t ask for that responsibility. She endured the hardest circumstances in submissive silence to avoid making life harder for herself, her sisters and I when the abuse we all endured was aimed in her direction. She suffered and sacrificed her childhood, her teenage years, and her own blood, sweat and tears to help her younger sisters and I survive .
Her strength isn’t only in the survival it’s in the story she is writing in spite of the circumstances she was raised in. That strength is in her smile that is contagious. The confidence in her own abilities and the goals she has chased, regardless of the people along the way who tried to tell her every reason she would never reach them.
Her complete transparency, self awareness, genuine kindness, and inclusive nature all are part of the backbone of her identity. It’s takes bravery to walk through the fire, but it takes perseverance to walk through that fire and not allow your entire life to be consumed by the pain.
It’s takes courage to love with your entire heart and give of yourself to others, even though that love and gift has been taken advantage of since you were young. It takes commitment to make a plan and to speak it to others, but it’s the determination that carries you across the finish line. It takes fight to face your worst fears, but it takes ferocity to overcome those fears.
My daughter is just another girl to the world, but she is going to change the world of the people who have the honor to know her. My daughter is beautiful, smart, and talented. However, she is more than any pretty pictures or my bias words could convey. My oldest daughter is the smallest of my threefold. Nonetheless, at 4’11, the truth that she has learned is “dynamite comes in small packages…BOOM!” Get ready, because this girl of mine is about to blow up on your scene.
She is my daughter, my first love, and I’m so incredibly lucky she calls me mom. She definitely has more than just socks these days, she has a whole suit of armor that she forged in the fire of her past. That armor is her success story. The one she has written each day along the way and will continue to write until it reaches completion. I am just happy to be on the sidelines cheering her on and supporting her through this crazy train ride called life. To my threefold, to my first little love. You’ve got this! Together we’ve got each other, always. ☮️❤️😊~M
