Stay with me

I am going to ask everyone for a favor. Stay with me this weekend. Please? I need someone to stay and read the whole thing. Just don’t leave me alone. I don’t care who or why you’re here — so Carson City, Burlington, South Burlington, Utah (wherever you came from), McCormick and Townsend, Pawtucket, Albany, Sacramento Relay, Reno — all of you, I need someone to stay with me.

I am having a breakdown, and I need to know someone hears me this weekend. I am just going to write. It might not make sense, but read it all the way through and really hear me. I get that my writing and my thought process are chaotic and hard to follow sometimes, but look for the logic — it’ll be there, even if it doesn’t come until the very end. I make no guarantees of that.

Despite what the header on the last post said, that’s not a sly way of saying I’m on drugs — quite the truly, for me, unfortunate opposite. I’m stone-cold fucking sober. Just, you know, having a nervous breakdown. And I need to talk for hours.

I’m sorry I’m like this. I am saying this in the hopes that I can actually believe it: it’s not my fault. I’ve been through more than any one human should. I have done a damn good job of holding it together because there aren’t a whole lot of people out there who could still be getting off the fucking mat at this point in their lives.

I’m harsh and I’m hard to deal with. My middle son, {MM} — he is autistic, and I want to explain that in detail right now, but I need to try to get to the point, so I’m not taking that side story right now. But {MM} was so fucking violent when he was little. He would beat his head against the wall, and I had to protect him from himself. I would sit on the floor and hold him in my lap. I would hug him, just as tight as I could, and tell him I loved him as he fought me. I just held on as tight as I could and let him know I loved him. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t a bad kid, and autism isn’t something you can change. I might have been able to do something else, but that was what my instinct was.

I need someone to hold me while I scream and claw and bite and fight them.

I used to say to {D}, “I will love you through anything, and I’ll forgive you for anything.” That’s what that meant — loving someone through something. I need someone to love me despite whatever I say or do, and then forgive me for it, because the control just isn’t there right now.

And {D}, specifically to you — through this, whatever I’m going through right now and whatever the outcome — I want you to read and fucking feel it, because I am specifically and directly telling you this is the result of your actions. This is the consequence. And if I were you, I wouldn’t be able to live with my fucking self knowing the grievous harm I have caused to another human being.

Watch me bleed, motherfucker. You did this. You. I hope to God that at night, when you spiral and realize what a fucking horrendous human being you fucking are — because I know you do, because I’ve seen and heard it — you reflect on this, and this is what reminds you of what kind of monster you actually are. You deserve that to be your thought every night as you drift off to sleep. I told you that you didn’t, but you fucking do. It’s called remorse, and you should feel it more often for the shit you pull.

And yeah, {D}, you know where that footnote came from, and we both know what it means. I’ll get there for everyone else on the ride through this, but that is the catalyst for my little weekend breakdown here.

Okay, all. I’m going to try to go back to sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up and feel better, but I’ve got some shit to get out, and I want to tell my story. Thanks for listening to it.

And remember — crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, and I’m admitting to it, so I’m not as crazy as it may seem at points. Goddamnit isn't that just just what a crazy person would say?