I am so many kinds of messed up.
In my mind, most everything leads to suicide. The Most Amazing Man and I have a disagreement, and the thought sneaks in that he just may kill himself. Stressed about money? Surely someone will die soon. Work not going great? Suicide may be imminent.
It’s a difficult way to live. I have to constantly catch myself; remind my subconscious that it’s not going to happen. Things aren’t going to go down that way.
We pass happiness back and forth between us like a hot potato, twin batons of hope and despair. I am miserable, he is optimistic. I get back on my feet, I feel him beginning to slide. This is hard. Blending a family like this is difficult. Neither of us ever give ourselves the kudos we deserve for doing something so complicated and potentially emotionally explosive.
Six months in, and there is no yelling, no violent arguing. We don’t throw guilt at each other. We work out any little snags, smooth things over with words until they no longer threaten to catch on our clothes and cause resentment.
We- all of us, kidlets included- adapt and change and settle in to our new life. The Most Amazing Man continues to be patient and supportive. I work on getting my head together, on feeling better. On not missing my ‘old life’ quite so much.
And I remind myself to take a step back occasionally- like I’m doing right now- and take a deep breath. To be proud of me, of him, of the kidlets. We are doing something good for all of us. And we’re doing it together.