I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. (Psalm 77:1-2) ............................................ A journal chronicling my struggle as a woman, to find my way out of an abusive relationship, and to find myself again.

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Location: Georgia, United States

Friday, June 18, 2004


I missed a third (?) drum circle tonight. Julianne keeps telling me to ask someone for a ride, but the only two people I know to ask are Melanie and Blue, and they hardly ever go. Oh well. Didn’t really want to go show off my chipped tooth anyway. I will be sad to miss the potluck this weekend, though.

I think I will anyway. Will is something I seem to be totally lacking these days. I am so far down in that damn hole, that I’m not sure if I really care if I ever get out. Too much bad is happening, and while I really am normally a glass-half-full kind of person, and often cheerful in the face of really bad events, I am only human, and a few words of “you choose this way to be, so choose differently” isn’t truly helpful right now. Not that I know what is. Maybe someone to love?

I am beginning to feel what I call skin-hunger. I am not the sort of person who shows physical affection easily, except with my kids, and maybe not as often as I should, or should have with them, but I do have a need to be touched now and again. I also have a need to be reassured, to be cared for, and to be loved. A weakness in me? I know lots of single women; how do they handle it?

I absolutely hate waking up in the morning, and I wish it wasn’t summer and that the girls were in school. I do my best to go back to sleep and back to sleep until there’s just no way I can sleep anymore. So I wake up late in the afternoon. Which would be okay if they weren’t here when I get up, and didn’t have to know. I don’t like my moods affecting them.

I’ve thought about suicide a few times today. I wonder if those thoughts will get stronger? I should probably seek help, but I’m too tired to make the effort. Yeah, I know. Choice.

Choice. I can choose, if I want, to tell Dale to take a hike, right now, today. I can choose to go to the shop in Helen that has my jewelry and get it back and take it back to the co-op, where it sells well, because it seems it is not selling here. I can choose to sing and dance and Pollyanna my way through this. Well, damn me, I’m not choosing those things. So sue me. I’m depressed, and I think if you were walking a mile in my shoes right now, you would be, too, choice or no choice.

Don’t people know that telling a severely depressed person that it’s their choice to feel better is an accusation of failure and weakness? I feel like a failure, and weak, as it is. Now I get to feel shame, too!


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