Tiffany. Twenty-Eight. Pisces. Feminist. Day-Dreamer. Somewhere in the middle of Nebraska. Be cool internet friends with me. Sometimes I talk to myself on here.
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For the month of July:
- limit phone time.
- stop oversharing every thing on insta/twitter.
- stop reaching out first, it really doesn't make a difference.
- stop the doom scrolling.
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"poor grandkids are going to grow up and act just like them - they make a good pair."
Turns out, my kids are growing up to be just like their Daddy and I. And I fucking love it. They're growing up not afraid to make their presence known in our home. They're not afraid to show their affection and love towards their siblings and parents. They can tell me their fears, their goals, about all their thoughts and dreams of the world. My home is never quiet, but in a good way. There's happy laughter, and yelling "I love you!" over the loud music we're dancing to in the kitchen. They don't have to wait for one parent to leave the room before talking to the other. They're allowed to have opinions, even if they're different than mine. My kids are KIND, smart, brave, and not afraid of failing, because they know they'll have momma and daddy telling them, "I'm SO proud of you" no matter what. My kids would rather all pile on the same couch as me, instead of hiding away in their rooms because they actually like to hang out with me. They're supported, fully, no matter what.
"They make a good pair" - thanks for the observation. I have never been more loved and supported in my entire life. I'm not afraid to tell my husband when I'm struggling, I don't have to struggle with my mental health in silence anymore. He doesn't make me feel stupid. He supports any dream I have, even if they aren't within reach, he helps me chase them. He has never once in nearly a decade raised his voice at me or any of his three kids. The kids and I hardly ever hear the word "no" because he makes a dollar and a dream work. He's protective of us, he'll go through hell and high waters for us. Daddy fixes everything.
So, yeah. My kids may be the spitting image of me, and they may act exactly like me, but instead of saying it like a curse, I see it as an absolute blessing. And yes, my husband and I make a great pair, maybe not in the insulting way it was originally said, but in the truth that he's my soulmate.
Sometimes things said in the dark come to light.
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I think the real root of it all, is that I will never forgive my father for having an affair.
As an adult, a married adult with kids, I could never, ever understand.
How can you choose to break your own family. How can you look your spouse in the eyes and say you fucked someone else and that you want to separate and divorce to go have another family with another woman and her kids.
A woman who left her whole family in another country, and had nothing for herself. Not even a job or a bank account.
That is so fucked up.
And the saddest part is, his affair didn't work out, so once he was done playing house with her, he broke the lease of his shitty ass apartment and went crawling back to my mother. And what did my mom do? Take back his sorry ass. And what's worse, is he honestly probably KNEW deep down that she would take him back. Because she had nothing, she had no one, no family support, nothing. And that is so fucked up.
As a daughter aged 6 or 7, I was so oblivious to it all. He made my brother and I call her and beg her to come out to the campground we were at. "Please mom, we miss you, please come." How fucking fucked up is that? To make your kids do the dirty work for you.
As an adult, now, at nearly 29... I could fucking never even imagine. The disgust I have for those behaviors. I can never forgive that.
I could never even CONSIDER taking those actions. How fucking shallow.
Narcissistic ass behavior.
How could you do that to your spouse? Who gave up literally everything for you. How could you do that to your kids? To put them through that, and make them be the middle men to glue back the picture that you ripped to shreds. So vile. So disgusting.
And my poor mother. That woman never hurt a damn fly. And someone treated her so poorly, but she literally had no other choice but to stay and try to make life keep going for herself. Thousands of miles away from any support she could ever have. Disgusting.
Fuck you. Fuck you.
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I miss the way things used to be.
I miss doing life together, and not just as two ships passing in the night.
I miss grocery shopping together and picking out new yummy things to try. And then going home and cooking together. Trying new recipes, making new recipes. One person chops while the other stirs.
I'd end up just sitting on the bar stool while he did most of the cooking. But I honestly didn't mind, I just loved his company.
I miss the fun adventures we would take. The random day trips. The spontaneous beach trips, or random trips to random places that would take all day.
I miss going places and doing things together and actually enjoying it. Not grumbling about taking the kids to sports, but actually being excited about sitting out at the soccer field and making sure we have water and snacks to do so. And getting snow cones afterwards.
I just miss the way we were when we were younger.
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Who would have guessed that the harsh words that were said about you when you were 12 would still be the voice inside your head at nearly 29.
The words that had me taking a blade to my young preteen skin are now the words that are screaming inside at nearly 29.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt." Bullshit. Because I am sobbing in my bed alone at 11am on a Thursday because I can't get my self out of bed.
Why am I struggling so fucking bad.
Why am I like this.
I'm so tired of being like this.
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I want to be one of those moms that have ALL their shit together.
Those "wake up at 5am, go to the gym, come home and shower, drink coffee and do a silly little hobby, have breakfast ready for the kids when they wake up, have all our activities planned and ready to go" all by 8am type of mommas.
I just don't see it ever happening. As much as I want it to.
I want to lie in bed forever. Maybe not forever. Maybe if the clock stopped ticking and I could remain in bed and no one will care because time is standing still for everyone else.
I'm just so tired.
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“no matter how badly you think you’re doing it, someone else has done it a lot worse and been fine” is applicable to a wide, wide range of things and i say it to myself all the time
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Just some rambling bullshit because I don't have time for real therapy.
.
.
.
I just don't feel like existing.
I know, I know. It sounds all suicidal and shit. It's not that I want to die, exactly. I just want to cease to exist for a while. I want to be able to put everything on a cold silence, but yet the world keeps spinning, I just don't have to endure it.
Because I know I want to live. I want to grow old and watch my kids grow up. I just can't handle THIS anymore. I don't want to. I hate waking up and begging with the clock to give me a few more hours. I hate spending every single day on repeat. The same steps, the same routine, the same fucking shit.
I hate feeling so alone in a house full of people.
It's all first world problems, honestly. Which is stupid, and my brain understands that. Which I guess is why I'd never follow through with the motions of making life not exist for me anymore.
I'm just tired. So, so, so fucking tired.
Tired of feeling alone. Tired of doing it by myself. Tired of cleaning the same dishes, the same messes, the same toys, the same clothes. Tired of breaking up the same fights and the same bickering. Every single day. There is nothing new and exciting. I look forward to nothing. I have no joyous moments in my every day life. And fuck, it is so exhausting.
I just want to feel like I matter. Like I'm appreciated.
"Parenting is about sacrifices." Yeah, sure, but why does it feel like I'm the only one sacrificing anything? And by anything, I mean everything. I'm the constant force in their lives, and I never get a break.
I look forward to bedtime, so I can just fucking get a break and sleep. But then I can't actually sleep because my brain can never just turn off and relax. It's always something.
You know that saying, "you don't know you're living in the good ol' days until you look back and realize those were the good ol' days." Yup. I feel that. Hard.
I miss cooking together with my best friend. I miss the spontaneous weekend trips to a town close by and having no plans except to find good food and enjoy good company with my family. I miss going to the beach. I hate Nebraska. I hate the cold. I hate what the Marine Corps has turned my husband into. I just really hate this phase of life.
We've been in Nebraska for exactly one whole year. And I fucking hate it. I wish we never had to take this path.
I would do literally anything to go back to our shitty apartment in Georgia, but the months before the alcohol got involved. Or to the first year of my daughter's life... that year was amazing. I enjoyed life then. I am fucking miserable now.
I'm just fucking miserable, bro.
I just want to be fucking happy.
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I didn't know why I took this picture July 15th 2020, after I had a full blown mental breakdown in my therapist's office. But today as I was scrolling through my phone's pictures, I stumbled across it, and it really made me reflect on life.
It's a weird feeling, scary almost, but also relieving at the same time. To finally get a really solid diagnosis as to what the hell has been going on inside of your head for years.
Borderline Personality Disorder.
Yup, there it is. That's what has been causing so much built up pain, anger, sadness, anxiety for YEARS. Literal years, undiagnosed. I honestly just thought I was a shitty person. I still do at times.
It was said to me during a therapy session over the summer. I was in a high manic state. Within the week since I last saw my therapist I had dyed my hair, pierced my nose again, and scrubbed my kitchen floors spotless. All things a normal person would do, but the way I was approaching things were not normal.
I was on edge, and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. That was my definition of normal. A week or two I feel like I am unstoppable. I can do ALL the things. I feel like a great mom, a great wife, and a great homemaker. But I was constantly anxious and waiting for the downward spiral. And then out of no where, or what felt like no where, I was hit hard with a wave of depression. I could barely get out of bed. I did the bare minimums as a mom and as a wife.
I honestly had no idea why. I could not explain why I was anxious all the time, or why I could cry at any small inconvenience. I still can't, half the time. Now I at least know the root of it is from BPD.
BPD has been something I've struggled with for over a decade. I can remember I often would get called "dramatic" and "sensative" by friends, classmates, and teachers. Looking back, I realize now that I struggled with my BPD as a teenager, and I didn't have the resources to navigate it. Now at 25, I still struggle with it, but I at least have a definition to what it is, and I am still learning coping skills.
Because of Borderline Personality Disorder, I have anxiety. And unfortunately, my anxiety shows itself through anger. I have a fear of abandonment. I self-harm(ed) in more way than one, an eating disorder being the number one way. There are days my depression hits like a ton of bricks, and I watch the dishes and laundry pile up, but I still can't convince myself to do them.
But, surprisingly, I have learned with the help of my therapist that there are also good qualities that stem from having BPD. I have the ability to be resilient. Through all the hardships and suicidal thoughts, I am still alive. I am strongly empathetic. And I honestly believe that what I thought was a bad quality growing up, that being sensitive is not at all a bad thing. I feel all the feelings strongly and deeply. If there is nothing else that I can say, I can without a shadow of a doubt say that I love my husband and my boys so deeply.
I guess where I'm going with all of this is, having a mental illness is not a bad thing. There are pushes and pulls, gives and takes. It is fucking hard, but to finally get a solid answer as to WHY, is more than enough for me.
Talk about mental health. With anyone that will listen. Because I know that 12 year old me would have thrived if I knew what I know now about having Borderline Personality Disorder.
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You know how when someone flies past you at 90 in the slow lane on the highway, and you can’t help wishing that they hit a patch of oil and spin into a ditch?
Can’t imagine why that crossed my mind just now.
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