I should be sleeping. Today, I took the day off and sent the baby to daycare so I could have some time to myself. I wasted it by sleeping till 1pm and woke up feeling worse.

I don’t think my mental health day was very therapeutic. Now I’m awake and its almost midnight. I’m writing because I feel like something needs to come out but I’m not entirely certain what.

My life is too…, something. I don’t know.  Something needs to change. It’s getting stale. I miss being loved. I shouldn’t watch romantic sci-fi adventure movies before bed. I’m in no position to date. I really believe it would be a mistake. I just want to feel loved, it would be selfish.

It’s interesting to read how I’m slowly talking myself out of these yearnings for the greater good. The truth is I’m not fit to be in a relationship. I’m barely fit to be a mother with my emotional limitations.

I love my son more than anything but it doesn’t prevent me from feeling selfish and wanting a moment of freedom from maternal servitude. I guess that’s probably normal.

I don’t believe anyone exists who could fall in love with me. I’m old, stubborn and scarred up emotionally. My only hope is to get emotionally healthy and better myself so I can spare my son from growing up with a backwards example of emotional health.

It’s fucking tough. Hardest thing ever. But in time I will recover and learning how to be a better parent should run parallel. One hopes anyway.

I think about you every day. I will probably love you for the rest of my life. So many songs in my playlist lead my thoughts to you, the way you were.

I sometimes feel as though you have died and I’m mourning you. I guess I am in mourning.

I can still remember our days at the park, time traveling and loving to smile into your face. These memories are actually the painful ones, more so than the dramatically terrible ones.

I remember and it tears at me. Tomorrow will be harder for me than you could imagine. Not because it wont be hard for you but because you couldn’t conceive how I could do it and love you enough to feel this much pain.

I believe this is partly because you were never the same kind of parent I am and partly because you’ve damaged yourself so badly. Because you loved me more than your own kids, which horrifies me. I can’t understand it.

I believe you were so hurt by the fact that I loved our son more than you because you didn’t love him more. You should have. Right? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? It’s not as if I didn’t love you. I loved you so much but you kept pushing and pushing until it hurt too much and I started to fear you.

I was patient. I gave you so many chances. I wanted to believe in you. I wanted you. I wanted our family.

I wasn’t perfect. I’m not going to say I was. But I did try. I did wait. I did put up with a lot. Because I loved you. You never knew how much because you were too busy trying to measure it and you were too high and crazy to see the truth.

I’m writing this here because I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t make sense to you if I tried. You’d probably just get angry thinking I’m tricking you, or worse, trying to manipulate you. So I keep quiet, say nothing, wait. I pray that someday you heal, and read these words when you can actually accept them.

I still love you. I miss you even though you’ve hurt me so badly. I’m not sorry for putting our son before you, but I am sorry I couldn’t find a better solution. I’m sorry that you’re alone. I’m sorry that you’re lost and angry. I’m sorry to see you hurt.

I love you.

My heart was heavy on Father’s Day.

One might expect a single mom to be a little down each Father’s Day but this wasn’t about me. My sadness didn’t spring from self pity, or frustration or even disappointment for my kid. I honestly kept thinking how much it must suck for my son’s dad. It kept me in a state of mild melancholy all day.

I still love the man. When I first realized it I couldn’t accept it. After the things he’s put our family through with his meth addiction I felt ashamed. How can I still love him?

How can’t I? He’s the father of my only child. I wanted to have his baby. It was intentional. He loved me so well…, until he didn’t. I miss that guy. He has been gone for a long while, consumed by meth, transformed, maligned, twisted, destroyed. It breaks my fucking heart.

I’m still going to court in 2 days to ask the judge to grant me a 5 year protection order. Loving a ghost doesn’t change the reality. He’s a danger to himself, our son and me. He’s this malicious child that can’t be trusted. I read his text message threats and I don’t feel anger, I feel pity and disappointment mingled with fear.

On Father’s Day I just felt sad. He’s so lost. He’s so fucking nuts. His is a life of misery and I just can’t help him. He takes too much of me when I need to be focusing on our boy. It sounds selfish. It’s fucked, I admit. But I waited, and I prayed, and I pushed and I sobbed. I endured fight and bite and threat and insult. I wanted to believe it would get better, but eventually I just had to wake the fuck up.

It wasn’t going to happen because he didn’t really want to quit using. What he wanted was for me to start using again with him, and that was never an option. The day I saw the pink plus sign that life ended. That girl who liked to fuck and do lines and be high got uprooted and replaced by me, a fiercely driven mother.

I will succeed where my parents failed. I have to. It’s not optional. My kid will be better off with no father than to grow up with a crazy tweaker as a role model.

Yet still I feel sad. And that’s OK. I’m letting myself feel sad. It’s a new thing I’m trying out. Rather than shame myself and bury and bottle I’m just letting it resonate. It feels like the right way. The middling path.

So yes. I do love that guy. It hurts me to do the things I must. It pains me to consider how this is affecting him. I feel a little guilty but I’m resolute. This is really happening. In two days I’m going to bawl my eyes out in front of a judge because I’m going to feel the pain of all this and that’s fine.

It is what it is.

You’ll never read this, because this whole site is a secret. You’ll never know how hard this is our how often I cry over you. There’s no point in telling you because you’d never believe me. It would just seem like a big suspicious lie.

I know I’m going to cry when we go before the judge because doing this is going to open the crack in the shell around my heart and let it bleed.

The truth is that as much as I hate the things you do and say and even who you’ve become, there is this aching tunnel in my heart from loving you.

But the choices you’ve made and the actions you’ve taken give me no responsible alternative. I’m doing this to protect our son from your drug addiction and the potential dangers you now represent.

I would sacrifice anything to keep his little heart safe, even you. I would say I’m sorry but that would only be partly true. I’m not sorry for doing this but I am sorry this is what it’s come to. I can’t apologize for the things you have done to put me in this position. But it is regretful that this is the place we’ve ended up.

I wanted to marry you and have our family. I wanted to love you and be happy. Here we are instead, going to court to legally stop speaking; to prevent you from taking and neglecting our son, or worse.

You probably haven’t slept for days. I couldn’t imagine what plots you’ve cooked up for me. This isn’t to get even. This isn’t about you. This is about protecting me and our boy. It’s all for him.

You will never know how much this hurts me, or how many tears I’ve shed. More to come, I’m certain. The truth is I still love the man I met and I miss him but there comes a time when a person has to stop hoping someone will get better and face the reality at hand.

You are a meth addict. You’re mind is addled and agitated. You can barely take responsibility for yourself, let alone a 2 year old. You’ve made threats and alluded to hurting me. I’m the only thing he’s got left and I’ll be damned if you’re going to take that from him.

So yes, I love you, but no, you can’t be a part of this life with us.

Goodbye.

I’m attracted to my boss. It’s not an infatuation or even lust really. I just feel like we’re compatible. We have similar interests and I enjoy his sense of humor. I feel at ease with him and I respect him.

I don’t moon over him or daydream about him but I do go out of my way to give him hugs. In this instance, that’s not strange. We were friends before he became my boss. And I can tell he appreciates them.

I love his hugs. He is tall and big and being wrapped in his arms feels right. It reminds me what it’s like to be a girl instead of a mom, and it’s pretty much the only human contact I get from any male who’s not related to me.

It’s somewhat unfortunate that he’s my boss because that puts him in the forbidden zone. I’m not sure if it even makes a difference because I have no idea if he would be interested otherwise.

I had a dream about him a month or two ago. We were on a stoney beach by a pier, and he leaned down and kissed me. It was our first kiss. I don’t recall if he said this or I was thinking it but one of us said, “I’ve waited a long time to do that.”

The dream was a bit of a surprise and lingered in my peripheral memory for a week or so. Part of me wants to believe this is a prophetic dream so I’m just superstitously biding my time. It’s so silly it’s comical embarrassing.

I’ve been alive long enough to know better than to put my work relationships at risk. I have 3 unbreakable rules.

1. Don’t sleep with your roommates.
2. Don’t sleep with you co-workers.
3. Don’t sleep with your drug dealer.

1 and 3 are crossed out because I haven’t used drugs or had a drug dealer in years, and I no longer have roommates but these are still good rules of thumb. As you can plainly see my boss definitely falls under the only remaining rule I have to contend with.

It’s a major flaw in my character. A good example of this frustrating behavior is my stance on my son’s dad having a role in his life.

On the flip side my boy misses his daddy and needs a father. If I was a perfect mother, that wouldn’t make up for an absent father. A boy needs a daddy.

There are other facets to the flip, such as how destructive it is to his fathers emotional health when I prohibit him from seeing our son. The absence causes him to do more drugs in an effort to quell the misery of being alone and having lost his children.

This type of thinking causes me to allow him to come over to see Z. 75% of the times I agree to let him come over I end up regretting it. Flop.

It will start out fine. He is happy to see our boy and will play with him, but it usually leaves me thinking that I’m just a fucking idiot.

It’s a game of roulette. He may be calm and comparatively rational, or he could show up with so many meth crystals dried on his nostril that I can’t let him even pick our son up for fear of exposure.

This generally ends with me demanding his swift exit and occasionally I am forced to call 911 in order to achieve that. Hence the flip flop.

I’m strongly considering that it would be best for Z, and definitely better for me if this guy was just out of the picture. It’s the rational, logical solution.

I naturally want to protect my son. I naturally want to try and provide him a safe environment to see his dad under supervision. But logic tends to point toward complete dismissal of this drug addict father figure.

There is nothing like picking the lesser of two evils when it involves your child. Do I deny my 2 year old a father or do I enable him to be negatively influenced by the father I so ignorantly conceived him with?

About 90% of the time I really believe that radio silence is the best policy. The only problem is that I also used to love this dirt-bag. I start to feel sorry for him, I feel guilty for potentially driving him down the spiral.

Like I said its a huge flaw. One I struggle with. You can sit there if you like, outside of it all and say the answer is so obvious. So simple. But until you’re in it, how could you really understand the complexities of this type of fucked up situation?

I’m exhausted. These last two weeks have been physically and emotionally draining. Last week was stomach flu and this week it’s a wicked middle ear infection. This week isn’t as bad as last week but I’m so exhausted and stressed about money I’m losing my shit.

It all began with my son waking in the middle of the night and barfing four times between 3am and 6am. Poor little guy puked all over himself and every furry friend in his bed.

Fast forward 2 days and now we are both puking and shooting diarrhea out our backsides in a way that can only be compared to a waking nightmare.

I’m cleaning puke and watery shit out of clothes in the bathtub because I’m too violently ill to walk to the community laundry room and I’m worried the bile will eat through them before I’m well enough to wash them for real.

Here’s a snapshot for you. Me on my knees violently heaving into the toilet with a two year old boy climbing up the back of my legs digging his heels into my quads and I can’t even ask him to stop between the stomach cramps.

Fast forward to the next day and Baby Daddy is calling me and texting me that he refuses to be served the petition for the parenting plan or pay child support, meanwhile I’m missing work and have used up all my PTO between family illness and court appointments. The cherry on top: I missed a court appointment to reinstate the temporary no contact order because of the raging puke plague in my apartment.

Fast forward to night before last and new symptoms crop up consisting of a cough and inconsolable crying. He’s saying “huwt” but can’t express where. Another day off for a trip to the doctor later and I’m told I will also be missing the next day because my contagious toddler can’t go to daycare.

I’ve barely slept in weeks, tomorrow it’s Easter and today Baby Daddy’s mom texts me they won’t be at Easter and refuse to see my kid because his half brother doesn’t want to see him. They haven’t spent time with him since before Christmas. It’s so obvious to me that they have mentally listed him as the red-headed stepchild that there is a palpable disgust so thick I could choke on it.

I am now losing my composure. The idea of my son being treated like a second class bastard is the last straw. I text her back saying how offensive it is and tell them I’m done with the whole paternal side of their God-damned family.

My head is figuratively exploding like a dying star and I LOSE MY SHIT COMPLETELY.

I spent the hour my kid was napping sobbing like a premenstrual teenage girl desperately wishing there was anyone I could lean on for some emotional support.

Now I’m even more exhausted because of crying so hard. I feel alone, hated, miserable, impatient and beaten. I feel like I can’t fucking take it anymore.

All I want in the whole world is to go to bed and stay there until God himself commands me to get up. My eyelids feel like they are made of oily tissue paper and my soul feels dirty. I feel resentful and stepped on.

Get over it. This is your life.

Children are precious. Moments when I am holding his little frame and his arms wrap around my neck are filled with peace. Kissing his head, smelling his baby shampoo in his warm curls, those moments are the epitome of maternal bliss.

They make every childish threat and malicious comment from his father bearable. My morning kiss goodbye from my boy prevents me from wishing I had never met his dad. Because he’s worth every second of the bullshit emanating from the source of his conception.

Life isn’t supposed to be easy. It doesn’t need to be as long as I can tickle my turdling and soak up the sweet ring of his giggles. If things weren’t difficult I suppose they would just be boring.

If I could go back and avoid all the trouble and destruction wrought by meeting his dad, I would not be able to. How could I? How could I give up the single thing that makes me a better human, that lights my heart and gives me purpose? How could I give up those chubby little cheeks and tender little hugs.

My chance to redeem all the past in his future.

It’s a mistake to long for the past. The only result is disappointment. That doesn’t stop any one from doing it though. Especially when we know it.

I tell myself that I don’t long for companionship because I believe it is a pointless desire incapable of being met. I tell myself so fervently that I even believe it.

It’s not true. I do wish I had a husband and a father for my son. Someone to lay my head on and make me laugh. It would be amazing to have a second opinion about parenting from someone I respect enough to listen to.

I do think it’s futile though. I’m just not going to find someone who can meet my expectations who would also be interested in me. I’m just too much of an emotional burden. I think it’s better to accept that than spend any time daydreaming about things out of my reach.

People say, “No, you’ll find someone.” I refuse to hear it. I don’t have time to waste looking for something that’s not real, and I will not be distracted from the true priority, which is my boy.

I only wish I had got it right the first time and provided him with a good father. He has no one in that respect and I regret that.

My track record for long term relationships is shameful. They just keep getting worse, more abusive, more damaging. I’ve really put myself in some bad places. I can’t take that risk with my son. I can’t trust myself to pick someone good enough. And I’m not entirely certain I’m capable of loving anyone again. I’m really not.

My son is 2½ years old.

It’s just the two of us now.

He’s learning to talk. Each day he learns a handful of new words. Each new word is a light shining into my heart.

Nothing in this world brings me so much joy or anxiety as my terribly cute little boy. Nothing in my life has ever been loved with such devotion.

His little grin is what keeps me going. Some days it brings me up and makes me smile, others I think it’s the only thing that keeps me from losing my top.

Last night when I went to bed I scooped him up and brought him with me. I never do this normally because I don’t want to break him from it later, but last night it was especially cold and I wanted to make sure he was cozy.

His warm little breaths on my arm under his goldilocks head reminded me of when he was my little baby sleeping in my arms nursing. He is such a blessing. The only person alive I’d suffer anything for. The only thing that’s worth it.

I pray for strength, and wisdom and peace all for his benefit. I pray to be a good mother and protect his perfect little
heart.

I’ve endured so much at the hands of my parents selfish neglect. For him I want better. The only problem is that with shit parents, I’ve got no experience with how to be a good parent, but all the motivation in the world to learn.

I have made mistakes, and I’m certain there will be plenty more on the next 18 years. But hopefully none so amazingly thoughtless as those that shaped my early life.

I’d like to promise, but how can I? I could choose the exact opposite path and fuck up in entirely new ways. Rather than neglect him I could overcompensate and smother him or enable him or spoil him. It’s such a fine line to walk. Nothing is simple in this job.

I want the best for him because I got shit. Because I got shit I’m not the best. It’s sort of a catch 22. So I pray and I try to learn from my mistakes and hopefully I will love him enough to make up for them all.