Well it turns out the children had a boring night even if he didn't. They had baths, supper then bed, all rather rushed, but what can I expect if he's busy socialising. The adults had a takeaway, and according to all three kids dad slept on the couch and no one went in my room because the door stayed closed.
Whoa.. back up there, dad slept on the couch and my bedroom door was closed in the morning? So where did Girl 1 sleep? Did she leave and come back in the morning for her car?
Maybe the slurping sounds I heard at my front door was nothing more than her finishing her coffee after collecting her car keys. Apart from the fact I know she's has drunk driven in the past, because "its only a short distance". Why did he tell me he slept in the bed if he slept on the couch. Did he go back to bed after the school run for an hour until she woke him up collecting her car keys?
Maybe it has all been the depression messing with my head. Maybe.
Or perhaps she slept in my bed that's why the kids thought she'd gone home. So did they have sex during the night or in the morning? Or did they just cuddle and mutter sweet nothings in each others ears. God mental problems make it so much harder to let go and not care. I decide I've had enough of lack of sleep and worrying. I'm going to just out right ask him. Only problem is he hasn't come home.
Next morning he rolls in at half 10 querying the locked front door, he thought I was enjoying myself personally, I tell him I have my periods, then have to explain that I usually lock the door when I'm in myself. He announces he's going swimming, okay body health first. Then proceeds to tell me he is taking Girl 2 to the cemetery as its an anniversary today and he'll be back late. He never gave his own sister a lift, but alright each to their own.
I guess I'm to stay here tonight. I wonder if he'll come back to night, I wonder if I'll sleep tonight. Or will my own demons keep me from the blankness longer. I'm actually scared to sleep. Last night I had a parade of nightmares. One kept playing on repeat. I committed suicide.
A hot bath once the children were sleeping and some wrist graffiti. The water pale pink when you came home and burst in on me. You lifted me from the water and held me like I've dreamed of for weeks, you held me close and told me I should never have done it. You said you loved me and couldn't lose me. I woke every time with tears in my eyes. Disorientated, each time not sure if I'd actually done it, not sure if I was alive or dead. I wasn't even sure if I was in my bed, a hospital bed or if it was all over.
Every time my head was filled with questions. Do you still love me? Is this forever? Do I want to die? Can I end it all? Is that giving up on us, or me?
I know I can't give in to the depression, but it gets so strong and I have no one to hold me and tell me its alright. I have no rock to cling to. I have no stability left in my life. But I have to be the stability for my children. I would be a coward to leave, and yet I'm not always sure why I stay.
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