Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Removed.
Edited to Add:
Let me know if you would like the link. I've removed it because instead of getting opinions on the topic itself, I'm getting opinions on my life, which is not exactly what I was asking for.
I appreciate that people come here to read, BUT, if you're going to read just pieces and pick out the parts that you want to spin into rumors to pass around town, please just go the hell away.
I'm not asking whether anybody believes we need money or not. It might appear that our life is great. We have new-er vehicles, just bought a house (that we don't need, or deserve apparently), we do own an older boat and have two older snowmobiles. Apparently, I should get rid of absolutely everything and live in a home that haunts me every single day so that if our attempts at growing our family fail, I will have nothing. But that's what people around here want, isn't it? For nobody to have more than them? To not offer support or kind words when somebody is hurting? It's the small town way to talk shit and break down and spread their jealousy and nastiness as far as they can. I am so sick of being bullied. I'm sick of being ripped apart by people who have so much misery that they can't stand it. I mean seriously... I don't deserve a baby because I have too nice of a car and house?
I guess what makes me the most sad, angry, and a million other emotions is the fact that Nate and I literally help people for a living. I sometimes work for 36 hours STRAIGHT. It's not out of the question for me to put in 50 hours in a single weekend. And in the 10 hours I sometimes get off between Friday night and Saturday morning, I respond to VOLUNTEER ambulance calls instead of sleeping. I see people die. I try to help them in the absolute worst moments of their lives. I go home sweaty, sometimes covered in the blood of someone else, and occasionally in tears. I beat myself to a pulp to help others. For what? To not deserve something?
Judge me on my character. Judge me on my heart. Judge me for my husband - nobody in the world can say he's not a great person. Walk a day in my shoes, and then judge me. Feel free to judge yourself first. What do you do for others? Anything? Do you do any single thing to improve the life of someone else?
I may not need the things I have, (and I may not be keeping them, how the hell would you know?), but I do know that I don't need anybody in my life who is not supportive, who constantly bullies, or pretends to care but then runs to the bar to flap their lips. I do not need you. What I do need is for you to get the hell away from me. I'm not doing this anymore. Stop commenting here or to others. We will have a discussion in person because I am sick of your misery and hate and I will not continued to be bullied by you. See you soon :)
Edited to Add:
Let me know if you would like the link. I've removed it because instead of getting opinions on the topic itself, I'm getting opinions on my life, which is not exactly what I was asking for.
I appreciate that people come here to read, BUT, if you're going to read just pieces and pick out the parts that you want to spin into rumors to pass around town, please just go the hell away.
I'm not asking whether anybody believes we need money or not. It might appear that our life is great. We have new-er vehicles, just bought a house (that we don't need, or deserve apparently), we do own an older boat and have two older snowmobiles. Apparently, I should get rid of absolutely everything and live in a home that haunts me every single day so that if our attempts at growing our family fail, I will have nothing. But that's what people around here want, isn't it? For nobody to have more than them? To not offer support or kind words when somebody is hurting? It's the small town way to talk shit and break down and spread their jealousy and nastiness as far as they can. I am so sick of being bullied. I'm sick of being ripped apart by people who have so much misery that they can't stand it. I mean seriously... I don't deserve a baby because I have too nice of a car and house?
I guess what makes me the most sad, angry, and a million other emotions is the fact that Nate and I literally help people for a living. I sometimes work for 36 hours STRAIGHT. It's not out of the question for me to put in 50 hours in a single weekend. And in the 10 hours I sometimes get off between Friday night and Saturday morning, I respond to VOLUNTEER ambulance calls instead of sleeping. I see people die. I try to help them in the absolute worst moments of their lives. I go home sweaty, sometimes covered in the blood of someone else, and occasionally in tears. I beat myself to a pulp to help others. For what? To not deserve something?
Judge me on my character. Judge me on my heart. Judge me for my husband - nobody in the world can say he's not a great person. Walk a day in my shoes, and then judge me. Feel free to judge yourself first. What do you do for others? Anything? Do you do any single thing to improve the life of someone else?
I may not need the things I have, (and I may not be keeping them, how the hell would you know?), but I do know that I don't need anybody in my life who is not supportive, who constantly bullies, or pretends to care but then runs to the bar to flap their lips. I do not need you. What I do need is for you to get the hell away from me. I'm not doing this anymore. Stop commenting here or to others. We will have a discussion in person because I am sick of your misery and hate and I will not continued to be bullied by you. See you soon :)
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Letter to Bereaved Parents
Letter to Newly Bereaved Parents
By Sarina Baptista
"You will survive this. It might feel like you won't right now, but you will." Those were the words told to me by a lady at my son's viewing. I later learned that her 4 year old son died about 9 years prior. You never would have known it. I asked her in the following weeks, "Are you happy? I mean really happy?" She knew what I meant. You feel li
By Sarina Baptista
"You will survive this. It might feel like you won't right now, but you will." Those were the words told to me by a lady at my son's viewing. I later learned that her 4 year old son died about 9 years prior. You never would have known it. I asked her in the following weeks, "Are you happy? I mean really happy?" She knew what I meant. You feel li
ke there will never be another happy day, another smile, another joy. She said, "Yes, I am. Of course there are days when I am not, but most of the time now, I am."
I hung onto those words with all my hope and strength. I knew that she had been heaven sent and that she would lead me to happiness again, or at the very least, to a day when I could smile at my other children, who so desperately needed me.
I am now over five years on this journey. I can say with a full heart that I am happy again. I have found joy again. This happened not by running away from my grief, but by falling into it. I had to fall into that deep darkness, just as Steven Curtis Chapman writes, "So deep and dark that I could barely breathe". I tried to escape it, but it just made it worse. So I succumbed. I learned fairly quickly that by succumbing to it, giving in, as horrible and frightening as it was to be in that pit,
I was not there alone. There were many others there with me -- other family who had met J.T. when he passed from here to heaven, the many angels who hold us up when we feel like we just cannot take another breath, and, of course, God. God was there in that pit too. I didn't recognize it was him until much later, but now looking back, I know he was there holding my head above the muck.
I cannot explain it very well, but I keep trying because I really want other parents to understand this. It is only by truly BEING in your grief that you are able to rise above it. I found that each time I
would feel that wave come over me, I would just let go and let it carry me wherever it may. Sooner and sooner, I was carried to the top of the pit, able to climb out and breathe again. We humans don't like to be "uncomfortable". We don't like to be in pain. Losing a child blows that all out of the water. There's nowhere else for us to go. We HAVE to be in the pain. Try not to run from it, escape it, numb it or postpone it. It will just come back again. You must deal with it.
I've learned so much since J.T. left, and I wanted to share it with you. I AM on the other side of that pain. I DID survive, and I DID make it. You can, too. Life will never be the same without your child here, but you CAN make a new life, a new normal, and truly function.
Be easy on yourself. Don't expect ANYTHING from yourself for at least a year. Do what you can for your other children, as much as you can give, but don't feel guilty about not being able to engage with them or stop their hurt. It just doesn't work that way. Their grieving is different than yours and may need professional help down the road. I put both of my children into grief counseling -- one was fine and we stopped the counseling, the other one is still going and probably will for some time. You will know what and when to do that. The biggest thing is to not think it's your responsibility. You have a lot to deal with yourself.
Take all the help you can get right now. I had people offering to clean my bathrooms. Ordinarily, I would have said no. But, it made that person feel like they were helping me, and it was not the time for pride, so I took them up on their offer. Take the help. It makes others feel like they are doing something for you.
I want you to also know something very important. Our children do bring us signs that they are OK. Watch for them, but try to not obsess on them. Sometimes, grieving parents try to look too hard and then miss the obvious ones, like a butterfly landing on your shoulder, or pennies and feathers in random places in the house. You might hear "Mom" spoken in your child's voice, look around and no one is there. That really is him, and he wants you to know he's OK. They are not truly gone, as I have learned in depth since J.T. left. And they will not leave us. Right now, it is your child's job to see you through this, and he will. So take the signs and hold them in your heart. Know they are real.
Don't second guess yourself. These gifts will get you through those tough nights when everyone leaves and goes back to their normal lives.
In the beginning, I had to have someone come sit with me at night. I called them my "mommy sitters". I was terrified to have the house quiet. I would have panic attacks, and I never had them before. I had plenty of them those first few months. Don't think you are being "weak" or not dealing with things if you have to have someone come over to talk with you, or just watch the kids while you have a meltdown. It is part of this wilderness we are in now. There are no rights and there are no
wrongs. Don't judge yourself thinking you should be done by now, or why this again? It just is.
I wanted to say a couple of things about siblings. I received so much advice on what to do and what not to do with my children as far as "letting them see you cry" or "keeping them from the pain." I learned some very important things. First, you do need to let them see you cry initially. I found, though, that after the first month, they kept trying to comfort me and wanted to take away my grief. Definitely not something a child should have to do. So I spent more time at the cemetery without them. It's a great place to scream, yell, beat the ground, throw things, etc., but not have the kids see it. I don't want to say to hide your grief from them, because they know more than we think they do. But I did have to limit it. Your children might be different. You will know what is best -- go with your instincts and forget what everyone else says.
Whether we wanted it or not, we are on this road. There are many of us on this road and we hold onto each other with all our strength. We are all at different stages of this journey. There are many who feel they are helping by sharing their story with you, but you may find it just brings you down. It's OK to limit that kind of support. They mean well, but sometimes it would leave me more depressed than when I came in! Do what you feel is right.
You are loved. You are loved by many in your community, by your child, by God. You did not do anything to deserve this -- it is not a punishment. I know this for a fact. There is meaning in this, even though you cannot find it right now, know it is there. You may find that meaning one day, or you may not. But it has nothing to do with judgment, condemnation, past sins, etc. I hope you know that. You are loved, and you are never alone. In the depth of the pain, I know you will feel that hand reach down to you, those arms holding you, just like I did. Hang onto that love, and know that it is real.
My family and I are praying for you, with all our hearts.~Sarina Baptista
I hung onto those words with all my hope and strength. I knew that she had been heaven sent and that she would lead me to happiness again, or at the very least, to a day when I could smile at my other children, who so desperately needed me.
I am now over five years on this journey. I can say with a full heart that I am happy again. I have found joy again. This happened not by running away from my grief, but by falling into it. I had to fall into that deep darkness, just as Steven Curtis Chapman writes, "So deep and dark that I could barely breathe". I tried to escape it, but it just made it worse. So I succumbed. I learned fairly quickly that by succumbing to it, giving in, as horrible and frightening as it was to be in that pit,
I was not there alone. There were many others there with me -- other family who had met J.T. when he passed from here to heaven, the many angels who hold us up when we feel like we just cannot take another breath, and, of course, God. God was there in that pit too. I didn't recognize it was him until much later, but now looking back, I know he was there holding my head above the muck.
I cannot explain it very well, but I keep trying because I really want other parents to understand this. It is only by truly BEING in your grief that you are able to rise above it. I found that each time I
would feel that wave come over me, I would just let go and let it carry me wherever it may. Sooner and sooner, I was carried to the top of the pit, able to climb out and breathe again. We humans don't like to be "uncomfortable". We don't like to be in pain. Losing a child blows that all out of the water. There's nowhere else for us to go. We HAVE to be in the pain. Try not to run from it, escape it, numb it or postpone it. It will just come back again. You must deal with it.
I've learned so much since J.T. left, and I wanted to share it with you. I AM on the other side of that pain. I DID survive, and I DID make it. You can, too. Life will never be the same without your child here, but you CAN make a new life, a new normal, and truly function.
Be easy on yourself. Don't expect ANYTHING from yourself for at least a year. Do what you can for your other children, as much as you can give, but don't feel guilty about not being able to engage with them or stop their hurt. It just doesn't work that way. Their grieving is different than yours and may need professional help down the road. I put both of my children into grief counseling -- one was fine and we stopped the counseling, the other one is still going and probably will for some time. You will know what and when to do that. The biggest thing is to not think it's your responsibility. You have a lot to deal with yourself.
Take all the help you can get right now. I had people offering to clean my bathrooms. Ordinarily, I would have said no. But, it made that person feel like they were helping me, and it was not the time for pride, so I took them up on their offer. Take the help. It makes others feel like they are doing something for you.
I want you to also know something very important. Our children do bring us signs that they are OK. Watch for them, but try to not obsess on them. Sometimes, grieving parents try to look too hard and then miss the obvious ones, like a butterfly landing on your shoulder, or pennies and feathers in random places in the house. You might hear "Mom" spoken in your child's voice, look around and no one is there. That really is him, and he wants you to know he's OK. They are not truly gone, as I have learned in depth since J.T. left. And they will not leave us. Right now, it is your child's job to see you through this, and he will. So take the signs and hold them in your heart. Know they are real.
Don't second guess yourself. These gifts will get you through those tough nights when everyone leaves and goes back to their normal lives.
In the beginning, I had to have someone come sit with me at night. I called them my "mommy sitters". I was terrified to have the house quiet. I would have panic attacks, and I never had them before. I had plenty of them those first few months. Don't think you are being "weak" or not dealing with things if you have to have someone come over to talk with you, or just watch the kids while you have a meltdown. It is part of this wilderness we are in now. There are no rights and there are no
wrongs. Don't judge yourself thinking you should be done by now, or why this again? It just is.
I wanted to say a couple of things about siblings. I received so much advice on what to do and what not to do with my children as far as "letting them see you cry" or "keeping them from the pain." I learned some very important things. First, you do need to let them see you cry initially. I found, though, that after the first month, they kept trying to comfort me and wanted to take away my grief. Definitely not something a child should have to do. So I spent more time at the cemetery without them. It's a great place to scream, yell, beat the ground, throw things, etc., but not have the kids see it. I don't want to say to hide your grief from them, because they know more than we think they do. But I did have to limit it. Your children might be different. You will know what is best -- go with your instincts and forget what everyone else says.
Whether we wanted it or not, we are on this road. There are many of us on this road and we hold onto each other with all our strength. We are all at different stages of this journey. There are many who feel they are helping by sharing their story with you, but you may find it just brings you down. It's OK to limit that kind of support. They mean well, but sometimes it would leave me more depressed than when I came in! Do what you feel is right.
You are loved. You are loved by many in your community, by your child, by God. You did not do anything to deserve this -- it is not a punishment. I know this for a fact. There is meaning in this, even though you cannot find it right now, know it is there. You may find that meaning one day, or you may not. But it has nothing to do with judgment, condemnation, past sins, etc. I hope you know that. You are loved, and you are never alone. In the depth of the pain, I know you will feel that hand reach down to you, those arms holding you, just like I did. Hang onto that love, and know that it is real.
My family and I are praying for you, with all our hearts.~Sarina Baptista
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
The bad, the ugly, and... the good?
I've written A LOT about the crappy people in and around my life. Unfortunately, I let them occupy my time and bring me down more often than I'd like. So now, for a change of pace... I shall highlight the GOOD!!
My Nater.
That boy, he loves me. And he loves our boy. He doesn't say much when it comes to emotions, but I noticed awhile ago that he was being more "attentive". Usually when we're both home we are together, in the same room, doing the same things. But he had become almost clingy for lack of a better word. (sorry, babe.) I asked him what the deal was and his response went something like this:
"I'm sorry, I just built up enough love for two people, and now I only have one to give it to"
Seriously... just shattered my cold little heart to pieces!
I realized that I can't lock myself in my own world, and I need to be more attentive to him as well. Crappily, we have learned how to grieve and grow together and are stronger in ways we never imagined we would have to be. He tries so hard to fix me and make me happy, and even though it sometimes fails through no fault of his own, he keeps trying. I just love him.
My Sister.
She was a proud auntie from the day she found out that the "Nugget" existed. She has always seemed to have everything together, always seeming perfect. I've always been the hot mess sister. I never realized she had grown up so much and become an amazing person until she went with me to one of my rarely-good-news Level II ultrasounds. We heard the news that day that Gavin had some fluid on his brain. Short story was, he might not have been normal. My hole was getting deeper and deeper, and she just kept watching him going "He's hiccuping! He keeps opening his mouth! That's so cute!" We left that day and were driving through the cities and I was holding back tears, and voicing frustration. Something along the lines of a pity party. I stopped and there was silence for a little while. Then Anna piped up, "Well, I'm going to love him anyways." She said it with such conviction and love for my little boy that my frustrations were instantly gone. She was right.
And love him, she did! She was Gavin's most frequent NICU visitor, coming up daily for a cuddle, and she would pester him and pester him until he would open his eyes. She was strong, even when I wasn't, and I couldn't have asked for a better person to love my boy.
My Parents.
They were pretty darn excited for Nugget. I often joked that mom was hoarding baby stuff. They loved little Gavin, and I know their hearts were broken for him, and us and themselves. I know it was and probably is still hard for them to lose him and watch my pain, and I wish that they didn't have to be in pain either.
Anna's new husband has two kids, who have become the highlight of our family. I don't know that I've ever expressed this to anyone other than Nate, but I'm so thankful for them. I'm thankful for their role in our family, and the role they have given to my parents. They're proud grandparents, and that brings me so much peace. I often worry that our future will lead us to adopt. I don't worry about us, I would do it in a heartbeat- I've been worried about others. My parents have settled my fears (not that I was worried about them, it's the other side that gives me adoption anxiety) that they don't have to share DNA to be loved. I know that I don't have to be afraid that my children won't be as loved or as special as biological grandchildren would be, and that's a huge gift.
My Close Friends and Family.
Some have bailed, but the ones that are left are some of the most amazing people I know, and I'm so lucky to have them. They don't automatically change the subject if I talk about Gavin. They love on me when I'm having a bad day. They invite me out over and over again - even when I'm not being much fun.
Some have come out of the woodwork, quite a few that I haven't talked to in far too long, to join in my support system. To let me know that Gavin, Nate and I are so very loved. They keep me afloat. They make me cry quite often with their kindness.
My Gavin.
The little human that changed my world. I've had losses in the past, and I have absolutely no idea what is to come in the future, but my little boy made me a mom, and that's the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I'll always be his mom, but instead of parenting him and watching him grow all I can shoot for is living a life that would have made him proud of me. I love my little boy more than anything else in the world, its a feeling that truly can't be understood until you see yourself in a teeny little person. In that moment you are changed forever. It is the deepest, most instant and all-consuming type of love that is just so impossible to describe. He was amazing, and I love him for always.
They're all my people, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
My Nater.
That boy, he loves me. And he loves our boy. He doesn't say much when it comes to emotions, but I noticed awhile ago that he was being more "attentive". Usually when we're both home we are together, in the same room, doing the same things. But he had become almost clingy for lack of a better word. (sorry, babe.) I asked him what the deal was and his response went something like this:
"I'm sorry, I just built up enough love for two people, and now I only have one to give it to"
Seriously... just shattered my cold little heart to pieces!
I realized that I can't lock myself in my own world, and I need to be more attentive to him as well. Crappily, we have learned how to grieve and grow together and are stronger in ways we never imagined we would have to be. He tries so hard to fix me and make me happy, and even though it sometimes fails through no fault of his own, he keeps trying. I just love him.
My Sister.
She was a proud auntie from the day she found out that the "Nugget" existed. She has always seemed to have everything together, always seeming perfect. I've always been the hot mess sister. I never realized she had grown up so much and become an amazing person until she went with me to one of my rarely-good-news Level II ultrasounds. We heard the news that day that Gavin had some fluid on his brain. Short story was, he might not have been normal. My hole was getting deeper and deeper, and she just kept watching him going "He's hiccuping! He keeps opening his mouth! That's so cute!" We left that day and were driving through the cities and I was holding back tears, and voicing frustration. Something along the lines of a pity party. I stopped and there was silence for a little while. Then Anna piped up, "Well, I'm going to love him anyways." She said it with such conviction and love for my little boy that my frustrations were instantly gone. She was right.
And love him, she did! She was Gavin's most frequent NICU visitor, coming up daily for a cuddle, and she would pester him and pester him until he would open his eyes. She was strong, even when I wasn't, and I couldn't have asked for a better person to love my boy.
My Parents.
They were pretty darn excited for Nugget. I often joked that mom was hoarding baby stuff. They loved little Gavin, and I know their hearts were broken for him, and us and themselves. I know it was and probably is still hard for them to lose him and watch my pain, and I wish that they didn't have to be in pain either.
Anna's new husband has two kids, who have become the highlight of our family. I don't know that I've ever expressed this to anyone other than Nate, but I'm so thankful for them. I'm thankful for their role in our family, and the role they have given to my parents. They're proud grandparents, and that brings me so much peace. I often worry that our future will lead us to adopt. I don't worry about us, I would do it in a heartbeat- I've been worried about others. My parents have settled my fears (not that I was worried about them, it's the other side that gives me adoption anxiety) that they don't have to share DNA to be loved. I know that I don't have to be afraid that my children won't be as loved or as special as biological grandchildren would be, and that's a huge gift.
My Close Friends and Family.
Some have bailed, but the ones that are left are some of the most amazing people I know, and I'm so lucky to have them. They don't automatically change the subject if I talk about Gavin. They love on me when I'm having a bad day. They invite me out over and over again - even when I'm not being much fun.
Some have come out of the woodwork, quite a few that I haven't talked to in far too long, to join in my support system. To let me know that Gavin, Nate and I are so very loved. They keep me afloat. They make me cry quite often with their kindness.
My Gavin.
The little human that changed my world. I've had losses in the past, and I have absolutely no idea what is to come in the future, but my little boy made me a mom, and that's the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I'll always be his mom, but instead of parenting him and watching him grow all I can shoot for is living a life that would have made him proud of me. I love my little boy more than anything else in the world, its a feeling that truly can't be understood until you see yourself in a teeny little person. In that moment you are changed forever. It is the deepest, most instant and all-consuming type of love that is just so impossible to describe. He was amazing, and I love him for always.
They're all my people, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
I'll get there.
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons h
ave an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
-Elizabeth Kubler Ros-
-Elizabeth Kubler Ros-
Think.
"You haven’t slept in years. You spend every day around people in massive crisis. You lose your ability to judge what’s normal… in yourself, or anyone else. And yet people are constantly asking you to tell them how they’re doing. How the hell are you supposed to know? You don’t even know how you’re doing. Don’t wonder why people go crazy. Wonder why they don’t. In the face of all we can lose in a day… in an instant… wonder what the hell it is that makes us hold it together."
"That knowing, is better than wondering. That waking, is better than sleeping. And that even the biggest failure, even the worst, most intractable mistake, beats the hell out of never trying."
""I had a terrible day." We say it all the time. A fight with the boss, the stomach flu, traffic... That's what we describe as terrible when nothing terrible is happening..."
Today, I'm sad and frustrated and filled with a million annoying emotions that I would rather not have.
I'm so sick of facebook.
I'm sick of reading the posts about how it is the worst thing in the world to leave your child at daycare for 8 hours. "A mama shouldn't have to be away from her baby for 8 hours!" "It's so awful" "I gave birth to him, I should get him all the time" *Smash head into wall*
There are a million mamas that would KILL for their kid to only be away at daycare for 8 hours. It's so awful? 7 months. I've been away from my baby for 7 months. That's just the beginning.
I'm sick of reading how people are having the WORST DAY EVER because they lost their keys, or were late for something, or got yelled at or some other stupid little crap that does not matter and surely does not equal a WORST DAY EVER.
I get it. They're obviously exaggerating.
I'm not exaggerating.
I'm not saying people shouldn't feel the ways they do, but I'm saying they should think before they speak. And no, I'm not simply being selfish. I'm trying to survive. What doesn't kill you does not make you stronger... it makes you dead inside. It makes you so fragile and easily breakable and I am SO sick of crying over other people's stupidity and ignorance. Think before you speak. That's all I'm asking. Think of someone other than yourself, and for the love of all things holy, if you say "it's a two way street" or "when will you be back to yourself" or anything other than I'm sorry- I'm done, no matter who you are, and I get to have that choice. I do everything I can to keep myself above water, and your stupid statuses about how hard life is are just killing me. I LOVE seeing my friends babies, I LOVE sharing their happiness with them, but I cannot keep spending all of my energy loving on other people when they can't take two seconds to think of me or the million other people who are without their babies or are facing their absolute worst days and worst nightmares. Lost your keys? Wow... do you remember my son, Gavin? I lost him. Keys can be made. Sorry you're having a hard day, but what a crock of shit.
I've tried to speak up, Nate has tried to speak up. Those have been my nice reminders but apparently my message hasn't gotten through. Here it is. The last one. YOU ARE HURTING ME.
Your worst day ever? Pathetic. Your worst nightmare? Try mine out. Try anyone's out. Did your house just get swept away by the ocean? Did you just lose everything you have? Did your husband die because I couldn't save him? Did you have to watch as your baby stopped breathing? I'm in pain. A constant, agonizing, crippling pain. Your nephew died, and your worst nightmare is losing your keys. Over-exaggeration or not, I can't do it anymore. You're hurting me, and I'm letting you. I've always been the type to burn bridges, and I'm not sure at what point I changed and lost myself while protecting others... but it's time I take care of myself. I don't even mind if I end up with 5 people left in my life- because at least I'll know who cares. Right now I'm not so sure.
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