#wakemeupwhenoctoberends

[daisybenitez24]

Wow! Hindi ko alam kung anong meron. Dahil October ba? 😂😭 Pero sobrang thank you Beb! 😍 More than happy! ☺️ #SpoiledGirlfiend #ManOfSurprises #Calligraphyset #WakeMeUpWhenOctoberEnds

[sherywoodsen]

[kirawu]

#needsomegreen #clover #green #boringtuesday #instagram #travel #throwback #wakemeupwhenoctoberends #photo #travelphotography #1weektrip

[larebelnerd]

Happy Birthday, Dear

Today is my husband’s 50th birthday. It is, for us, a time of many anniversaries. In 10 days, it will be the 1 year anniversary of my brother Mike’s passing.  In three weeks, it will be what should have been our 25th wedding anniversary.  In six weeks, will come the anniversary of my discovery of his cheating, his denial, and his eventual moving out.  

Today is his birthday. The gifts we gave him last year are still here. Unclaimed. Untouched. Rejected. Would anyone like a size L Rizzo jersey? It is still here, along with every gift the children have ever given him.  Every framed photo, every hand-made card, every silly little drawing or clay project.  Every piece of sports memorabilia they spent their hard-earned money on as they got older.  I kept it all, thinking that at some point he might want to remember who we were, and would come back to claim it.  Some of it. Any of it. Even just a picture of the kids? But it doesn’t look like that is going to happen.  

A year ago, as I was struggling to care for Mike, and the kids, and my mom, and work, he was focused on training for his half marathon, and conducting an orchestra, and, well, other things. There was to be no help from him, no empathy, no compassion. Not even a visit to the hospital where we were sitting vigil.  Not even a show of support for his son, who was close with his uncle. Not even an offer to attend his daughter’s parent-teacher conferences so that I could tend to other things. Just more of what I now recognize as triangulation, gaslighting, and destructive conditioning.  An implication that I was crazy when I mentioned that I might want to see a therapist, a remark about how I could never survive without his income, biting comments about my appearance, and a smile as he asked where I’d like to go to celebrate our anniversary.

I do so hate anniversaries.

So today, while the City Wide Orchestra sings happy birthday to their new president, and he enjoys what I presume is a weekend in WI with one of his girlfriends, I will pack up his unclaimed gifts from last year.  And all the years prior.  And put them into boxes.  And it will go next to the box of his Christmas ornaments that we painfully packed up last year as we decorated the tree.  And I will take those boxes to the storage locker. And I will try my best to shut the door. Again.

Happy 50th, dear. I don’t think I’ll buy you a present this year.

[ladyumbreon94-blog]

November

i guess i finally have somewhere to write without my parents snooping around... haha. 

isn’t it lovely at 21 years old to have your parents come home and automatically be in a bad mood? whether its at each other, work, or whatever else could have pissed them off during the day and have you be the target to vent with at the end of the day? yet you can’t say anything about it because where can you run to? who is going to help? nobody. i cant wait until November. i will finally be out of this god forsaken place. i will finally be able to start walking the road i need to. ever feel like you hate school? because teachers tell you what to do? you at least can get away from home. see your friends, even if its just one. hate your job? boss a pain in the arse? you get paid. imagine if after all of that you resent having to go home. you resent weekends, holidays and afternoons because you have to hear that door open and hear your name being called out. you get treated like a child with no freedom, no say in the matter. people wonder why every day kids walk into school with guns, knives or whatever weapon they have and hurt or kill people, why people finally break. maybe its because they’re sick of the place they call home and can only figure one way out of it. sometimes i think jail would be a better place then this, i admit. i’ve thought many things in life, many ways out of it, i guess now i’m not thinking of ideas... i’m just hoping i can make it through the wait. i’m just hoping for time to hurry up and end the days.