Tell The World I’m Coming… Home Let The Rain Wash Away All The Pain Of Yesterday

I booked flights for about 10 days out. They were the right combination of cheapest and nearest in date. Well they weren’t cheap, but I just wanted to get out of there ASAP. Then, after I booked the flights and paid, I sent an email to my mom letting her know our itinerary and just an update on what was going on. I didn’t let anyone else know what was happening because I already felt I was being watched like a hawk with my in-laws visiting all the time, and probably reporting back to E.  So I attempted to go about life as normal.

Until, I got a call from E. He apparently had been monitoring my email and had seen the email to my Mom. In reality, there was not much he himself could do about me leaving since he was back in Canada now, but that didn’t mean he made it enjoyable for me. He hacked my Facebook and made a single post saying “I’m divorcing E” My friends and family started reaching out to me before I had a chance to delete it. I never post on FB, considering I was living in the middle of nowhere with limited access to internet, so they all thought it was a little out of the ordinary for me and wanted to make sure things were OK.  Although the statement wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t how I wanted word to get out, for obvious reasons. So after changing all my passwords to everything… social media, banking etc, I braced myself for what was to come next, while still trying to get over the fact that E had been keeping tabs on all my emails and social media without letting me know. Not that I had anything to hide until now, but still, it pissed me off.

Visits from my in-laws increased ten-fold. In fact my mother in-law took it upon herself often to just come and stay ALL day. No matter how many times I asked her to leave MY house. She would come in the morning, and grab a chair and sit in the middle of MY living room, and order around my farm boy and whomever else had dropped in for the moment.

Calls from E were constant. To myself, to my farm boy, even to the neighbors. It became so overwhelming. To everyone.

So I decided to switch my flights. At this point I didn’t care how much money it cost to re-book them, but I had to get us out of there. I paid the $2000+ to change my current booking from a week out, to 2 days away. Then I started the packing. At this point everyone knew what was going on, so keeping it on the down low anymore was pointless. I gave away most of the kids things to the neighboring children. Clothes that had been worn out by the Kenyan sun, toys that were replaceable, everything. I had very little to pack personally, since anything of mine that hadn’t fit in the 1 of 3 suitcases that fateful Sunday, E had taken upon himself to throw down the outhouse instead of burning like he had threatened, leaving me with hardly anything.

I gave away our chickens to the farm boy and sent him on his way, thanking him for everything he’d done for me. We spent time with our neighbors, visiting and them crying, knowing in the back of my mind I was never going to return here.

Everyone was constantly telling me it wasn’t a big deal and I should forgive him. Which further cemented my belief that I HAD to get out. Now.

M had offered to help drive us to the airport which was in the next town over after we pick Little E up from school at lunch.  I had told her she could have our mattress which I had brought from Canada a few months ago. I felt it was the least I could do for them after everything they had done for us. Because finding a good mattress in Kenya? Is like me finding a good man.

The morning of the flights arrived, and lo and behold so did my mother-in-law, bright and early. Whatever. What’s she gonna do to stop us? M arrived with her husband and 1 son to help with the luggage. They backed the van up to our back door and that’s when one of the most stressful days of my life started.

My M-I-L seriously thought she could single handedly stop us from leaving. She stood in the doorway and would refuse to move for anyone trying to get in or out with a suitcase. Everyone was super polite with her… “Excuse me, could you move please, I have to get out please,” then try to squeeze past her. Which wasn’t simple because my M-I-L isn’t a tiny lady. Then when she realized that her just standing in the way wasn’t working, she started grabbing the luggage out of the van and started carrying it back to the house. So M had to guard the van, while her husband and son brought the things out. But my M-I-L was still not impressed by that. She started grabbing things straight from M’s hands, which M was not having. My M-I-L even went so far as to push M away from some of my things, and then claim that M had beaten her!

I know, that in this moment I was not this most helpful person, but I honestly think I shut down. I couldn’t believe she was behaving like this. She started screaming and yelling and acting like we were the worst human beings in the world.

Then I saw my M-I-L walk towards the gate to the yard, so I rushed out the front door to get there first. I didn’t want her to close the gate and then sit in front of it or something ridiculous so that we couldn’t drive the van out, possibly causing us to miss our flights. So I sat on the ground calmly in front of the gate holding it open with Z on my lap and watched her come towards me.

You could see the look in her eyes she was beyond pissed. She knew that she was helpless in stopping me from leaving. Why she wanted me to stay, full of so much hatred for me, I don’t understand, but she was determined. She walked up to me and started on a huge rant. So I simply told her to fuck off. I know it was not kind or polite, but the situation called for it. Which I’ll always remember led to her saying “Yeah fuck me. Fuck me in the vagina” I hate to say I kinda chuckled at that. Then she grabbed her phone and called my father-in-law. She spoke in Swahili but I could tell she wasn’t happy. I also knew that what she was telling him was probably a lie considering all the yelling and hand waving that was going on. Lying seemed to run deep in that family.

M & D pulled up the van to the gate so I could get in with Z and we headed down the road. We got about 3 minutes down the road on our way into town to get Little E from school, when I see my F-I-L racing towards us on a piki piki.

The piki piki pulls over and I see him pull a stone the size of Z’s head out of his bag. Which means at some point on his way to my house, he stopped on the side of the road and chose a rock specifically for this purpose. He stops in front of the van so D could no longer drive. And then proceeds to smash the front of the window with the rock. M was yelling at D to drive past him but my F-I-L was standing right in front of the van and D didn’t want to run him over. My F-I-L grabbed the rock again and slammed the front window again. By now, M is frantic, I can’t believe this is happening, and D starts slowly moving the van trying to get away.

I’m starting to panic. I have no idea what my in-laws are trying to achieve with all this, or what they are capable of. But D slowly starts to drive and my F-I-L moves out of the way. D speeds up and M is yelling at him to just drive! D can barely see out the windshield  because it’s been smashed to bits by the rock, so he’s trying his best. But all of a sudden we see my F-I-L’s piki piki pull up on my side of the van again with my F-I-L on the back. He hurls the rock again and it smashes through the front passenger side window shattering broken glass everywhere. M is covered in glass and yelling at D to drive faster. He’s doing his best to see through the broken window and navigate down the very rough dirt road that’s filled with pot holes. I was brushing glass off myself and baby Z, and all I could think about was Little E at school.

At this point, I had no idea how far my in-laws would go to try and get me to stay. I was honestly worried that they would kidnap Little E from school as like a hostage type thing. D drove off the main road to a friends house where they arranged to borrow a different vehicle for the remainder of the drive. You know, one without the windshield smashed in. I was the most frantic I’ve ever been. I just wanted to get my son and get the hell out of the country. NOW.

I called Little E’s school and told them not to let Little E outside at all. I asked them to please pack all his things and have him waiting IN the classroom. I told the teachers to not let ANYONE else, under any circumstance, pick him up except his mzungu (white) mother. Not his grandfather, not his grandmother, no aunts, uncles. Nothing.

The new car arrived with a clear windshield and we switched the luggage. The car was smaller and so just M, and her son and I went in the new vehicle with Z. D stayed behind to deal with his smashed van. We got back on the road again when two minutes later, who pulls out in front of us? My F-I-L.  M’s son was driving so the rest of us ducked down so my F-I-L wouldn’t see us. We figured he wouldn’t notice the new car but we didn’t want to take any chances. And at this point I didn’t know what he was thinking or what he had spent the last 20 minutes doing/getting.

We sped as fast as we could into town, to ensure we’d arrive anywhere before my F-I-L but it still felt like too long. I called Little E’s school twice more to make sure he was safe, I didn’t care if the principal thought I’d lost my mind.  We pulled up and I felt like it was a grab and go. I was on the phone with his teacher telling him when we would be pulling up and to get Little E ready. The guard opened the gate and ushered Little E out, and we pulled him into the car like a sting operation then pealed out like we were filming the next installment of the Fast and the Furious.

Next, we had to make a stop at the police station to report what had happened to M’s van. I, myself just wanted to get out of town, but I realized this was M’s life and she wasn’t leaving the country. They still had to come back to this mess at the end of the day, so it should be dealt with properly. M filed her police report with a little input from me, and after about an hour we were back on the road.

The first airport was about 2 hours away and it was a stressful ride. So many crazy scenarios ran through my mind. Every ridiculous thing that could happen I thought would happen. I thought maybe my F-I-L might be at the airport when we got there. I thought he might make up all these absurd accusations that would affect me leaving the country for some reason. I’m pretty sure M could sense my paranoia. Her and her son offered to stay with me at the airport until I absolutely had to board the plane, which I was so grateful for.  But I was still so stressed out. I thought at any moment I would see the face of any one of my in-laws pop up from around a corner with who knows what, to do any number of things. My mind was exploding with possibilities.

Imagination much?

It was finally time for my flight to Nairobi. I can’t even remember if I hugged M goodbye. I know I was so thankful for her and her family for everything they had done. I told her I would pay for the damage to her van. I knew as missionaries, they didn’t have extra cash to be throwing at things like that, and it was definitely not her fault. We would be keeping in touch for sure.

Once on the flight I had about an hour of peace. The kids were relatively good. I had told Little E we were going to see Nanna and Nonno (my parents) so he was excited, and Z was only 6 months old so not much trouble there. Once in Nairobi though, I was paranoid again. I had more in-laws there, and I legitimately thought that one of them would show up at the airport at the request of E. I also last minute realized that my 3 month VISA had long passed the expiry date, and I might have trouble with exit customs. Originally we were working on duel citizenship so I would have been fine, but now…. I grabbed a pen and altered my entry dates on my visa. I couldn’t handle any more issues, and I just wanted to get out of the country. I was desperate. Highly illegal yep, but this is how desperate I was.

I made it through customs by the help of my cute kids and talking about my famous  Kenyan husband. No shame, because at this point I would do anything to get out. I finally relaxed a little once I was in the boarding area. It was the first time I think I took a full breathe all day. We made it to London without much trouble. Other then the normal perils of travelling with 2 small kids but not like I had a choice of travelling without them.

From London next was Toronto. Where I always get pulled over at customs. Every. Single. Time. This time though, I must’ve looked like a crack head. I’d been through a lot in the past few days and totally got it. But then they started asking Little E questions like “”Who is this lady?” “What’s her name” and instead of saying mom, like a normal kid,  he took it so literally and said my actual name – C. Which of course led to more questioning and a search of my bags. Like for real? Do you honestly think I want to be travelling with 2 little kids for almost 4 days straight? Nobody in their right mind would do this for fun! Trust me, these tiny humans are mine and I am obligated to care for them! No human trafficking happening here.

We finally passed customs but had now missed our connecting flight to our final destination. I had to go through the hassle of rebooking (and paying extra for) the final flight a few hours later then the original. Then I grabbed some food for the kids and I and found a place to nap for a few hours until our flight. Once our boarding time came, Little E was dead asleep on the floor. I had Z in a sling, also asleep and two carry-ons slung over my shoulder. I tried waking up Little E but he was exhausted. No one was around to help so I had to try and pick up Little E. I grabbed him as best I could by his arms and lifted him up to carry both kids. I ended up popping his elbow out. Not my best mothering moment, I’m well aware. Little E just wanted to sleep though, so even on the plane, he didn’t want me to touch his arm to fix it. I wrapped it in a blanket to keep it tight and still so he could just sleep the whole flight. Meanwhile, I was back and forth to the gallery making bottle’s for Z to keep her quite. During the last 3 days I had been so stressed that my body had entirely stopped producing milk for her. So even though I love nursing my kids (my absolute favorite part of being a mom), Z was done at 6 months old, thanks to this stressful situation. The one small saving grace is that she had started taking a bit of formula a few weeks prior when the girls in the neighborhood wanted to hold and feed her while I was dealing with our situation, so I at least had some on the plane.

We got to my hometown a mess. Little E was holding his arm because I had popped his elbow out of place. Z was cranky because she wanted to nurse, but I was dehydrated and had dried out. I was exhausted and at my limit. I hadn’t slept more than an hour in almost 60 hours and I had been through one of the most stressful ordeals ever, and I had no idea what was next.

But we were all alive and would be safe. And that was what was important.


Below is M’s van after the fact, posted with the following on FB:

M's pic

“God never promised a problem free life but He does promise to never leave us. On Wed we were helping a friend leave Kenya when her family attacked our van. The father in law blocked the road and threw rocks at our windshield and then when we got away he came again to continue throwing another rock into my passenger window. God showed us a place to hide and many friends that came to help. We are bruised, cut and shaken up but very happy to be ok”


-Diddy&Dirty Money/Coming Home-

Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now If I Go There Will Be Trouble And If I Stay It Will Be Double

I spent the next couple of days in what can only be described as a fog. I was there. I was alive. But I was definitely not thinking clearly. Everything was blurry. Fuzzy. I couldn’t concentrate on any of the mundane day to day things that needed to be done. The kids needed to be fed… I’m sure they were, I mean they’re still alive today right? They needed to be dressed, I remember seeing them walking around in clothes and then at night in pajamas but I have no idea how they got from one to the other. Diapers were changed, but I can’t for the life of me remember by whom. Life just happened. I apparently didn’t need to be 100% present for the world to keep on turning. E would be leaving in a few days back for work in Canada, and I just had to make it until then.

I did my best to avoid any talk of what happened on Sunday. His various family members came to visit, and I stayed in my room. I left the house with the kids to visit neighbors at every opportunity possible. Basically, if there was an chance to be away from E, I jumped at it.

Of course he apologized profusely, and constantly. But it wasn’t something I wanted to hear at the time. I told him it was fine, and that I was done with it, but it was more that I was done talking about it and didn’t want to discuss it anymore, than the fact that I had forgiven him in that moment.

No I didn’t feel comfortable around him. No I didn’t want him in my bed at night. No I didn’t want him touching me.

But on the other hand, I was trying to lessen the uneasiness in Little E’s eyes. I wanted him to feel like everything was OK and that there was nothing wrong. I wanted him to be comfortable and happy. I didn’t want him to be scared every time he heard E enter the room… Like I was deep down.

I only had to survive the next 3 days until this man was gone. If I  could get through it, then I would have some space to clear my head and think.

Unfortunately, the 3 days weren’t smooth sailing. Ha story of my life.  I’m drawing a blank about the correct terminology but, a council of sorts was called regarding E’s behavior. The local elders and the Chief all gathered at my house one morning and discussed (in Kiswahili, no less) the circumstances that had occurred on Sunday. I had no input in the conversation that was centered around me.

In fact, as a white woman I wasn’t even allowed to take part in the conversation. I was relegated outside to the kitchen with the kids who interpreted as much as they could for me as they ran back and forth to keep me informed. But the jest of it, was that what E had done was bad, and he shouldn’t do it again… No shit Sherlock. At the end I remember they called me in and asked me if I agreed and I straight up told them I had no idea what they said, and it was rude of them to talk about me, without me, in a language I don’t fully understand, without invitation. And that they were welcome to leave my house now. I was done with people thinking they could discuss my life and somehow think talking about it would solve all my issues. Because trust me, it was NOT helping. So that was the end of that council.

Once E left Kenya for work near the end of the week, I immediately felt the change in the house. Our farm boy and I had many conversations about how he thought E was a “bad man” and he didn’t want to work for us any more. I asked him to stay with us until E came back since I didn’t know anyone else available/capable/trustworthy and I couldn’t handle the farm on my own. He agreed to stay. For now.

My in-laws were constantly dropping by “just to visit.” Mmmhmm, sure. I’ve been living here for how many years, and now all of a sudden you want to come over and see how the kids and I are doing? Screw off. My father-in-law literally came over everyday, 5 days straight on his way back from town with a yogurt for Little E, or raw beef for the dogs. He would boss my farm boy around and annoy my house girl. He’d only stay for about 10-15 minutes but it became the most frustrating part of my day. Especially when I could go for months without seeing him previously. Just how I liked it.

My neighbors were constantly at my house, just because. A few of the pre-teen boys skipped school for a couple days and I would see them around the yard helping my farm boy until I had a discussion with them about the importance of school. They told me they just wanted to help me out because they felt bad about what had happened. I told them I truly appreciated it, but school was much more important and they could come hang out after.

My house girl finally quit after being harassed by my father-in-law so much. Apparently she wasn’t doing well enough according to his standard. I had no one to help now. So my neighbors would come by every day to help me with the basics. Now don’t get me wrong, I’d gotten pretty good at life in the village, but it takes two for sure. If I needed to cook something, I had to first gather wood, and start a fire out in the kitchen on the dirt floor between 3 carefully placed stones that would hold up the pot over a fire I had to build. If I wanted to shower, same process, but I also had to haul the water from the well. The clothes all had to be hand washed, so that meant hauling water every day, and then hanging them up to dry. We had no electricity so groceries had to be bought everyday fresh, since there was no fridge to store anything, so that meant at least a 3 Km walk one way for anything.  Dust was everywhere, so the floor had to be swept and washed daily. Not to mention the kids and the basics of keeping them alive. It was a two person job for sure. And now since my father-in-law had felt the need to stick his nose in, I was a (wo)man down. I wasn’t pleased.

One day I just needed to get away from the house and all the bustle. I decided to take Little E to pre-school in town instead of him taking his normal bus (Yeah they start pre-school at 3 years old there). I wanted some quiet time away from everyone who was trying to help. I hadn’t had free time completely to myself to process that Sunday yet. There had just been to many people in and out of my house, too many fake apologies, too many people saying “just forgive him.” All I needed was myself and my mind, unencumbered by other peoples perspectives and unhelpful advice. Thinking they knew what was best for me, but not knowing me. So I asked a neighbor to watch Z for a bit while I took Little E took school and did some grocery shopping and we were on our way.

After I dropped Little E off at school, I walked. Plain and simple. I walked. The entire length of Kakamega and back. I made a pros and cons list in my head about leaving vs. staying with E and all the ramifications. I thought through every step that would have to happen in either circumstance. Which one would be more beneficial for myself and the kids.

Was I strong enough for either situation?

Was I capable of leaving him?  Would I be able to be a single mom? I never had a chance to finish my teaching degree, since I got pregnant with Little E, and E’s refugee denial. Plus since then, we’d been flying back and forth between countries since E couldn’t decide what was what… I had no home to go back to. I had no job. What I did have though, were two kids whose lives I was responsible for. Two children who didn’t choose this man. Two kids who deserved all the best life had to give them, and that wasn’t happening if I stayed here with E.

So, by the time I had made my way from one end of town and back, I had decided. I had made the choice to leave E. I called my mom right there on the street and told her. I asked if the kids and I could stay with my parents when we got back into the country. I needed to tell someone right away or I felt like I wouldn’t follow through and I needed to be held accountable for this choice. After my mom said of course we could stay with them, I hung up the phone and headed to the house E and I had built from scratch, brick by home-made brick. That I had paid for 100% from my pocket since he just played rugby and farmed. And hatched the plan to get out of the country.

When I opened my laptop to search for flights, I noticed the date.

It was Valentines Day, 2014.

The day I gave myself the most loving gift anyone ever has. The decision to leave an abusive marriage.


-The Clash/Should I Stay Or Should I Go-

Love Don’t Lie It Lifts You Up It Takes You Higher When High Ain’t Enough

My marriage should have never happened. But I’m not always good at following my gut. Or listening to the little voice in my head. I follow what I thought was logic and reason, and at the time, all logic was telling me that this man was the best I could/would do and I should get it in while I had a chance.

Awful start, I know. Stupid reason for getting married, I’m well aware. But people do dumb things sometimes, and trust me I’m dealing with the consequences now, and I will be for the rest of my life. Not everything that came from that relationship was terrible. I got to travel the world, which is an experience I will always cherish and value. Most importantly though, I was blessed with my two children. They give me life. No it’s never easy being a single mom, as many of you unfortunately know, but my kids make it worth it. When they smile so big that their eyes squint tight… that’s my joy. I can honestly say that my kids make me happy. Of course they are tons of work (too much it feels like some days) and are  wearing on me constantly but they spark joy in me. A joy that had been lost for too long. A joy that took me a while to understand that they brought, but I’ve learned to appreciate now.

When I met E, I was in a man fog. I was literally hosting one night stands with every half decently attractive guy I met online. Probably on average about 2 different guys a week. I wasn’t looking for a husband, I was looking for companionship. Very short term companionship.  When one of the guys would call me back after I wouldn’t answer. I had gotten what I needed for the time being from them and was moving on. I didn’t need to go through the fake motions of politeness, because frankly I didn’t care.  I was a bitch, I know.  But then I met E and invited him over. He was so shy he brought a friend, which I thought was so endearing.  We talked and actually got along and his friend just kinda chilled there for moral support or something, I still don’t know, and couldn’t care less. As the night moved along I totally made a move, since I invited him over for one reason… friend or not. We did our deed and it was all good, but then I specifically remember when E went to the washroom his friend came over to me and I was like hell no, I’m not THAT skanky, and so I called out for E to help. He came out from the bathroom and took the guy out, and in that moment I thought maybe this guy had potential, and not all guys were that bad after all. So when he called me the next day, I threw caution to the wind and answered. Way out of character for me but in the moment it felt ok. It felt like maybe he had “earned it”.

So I guess that’s when we started our pathetic “courtship” or whatever you want to call it. We started “dating”. I knew after about 2 maybe 3 months that this was more effort and work then it should be. I knew that I probably deserved better. Someone who would call me. Someone I could talk to. I deserved someone who could hold up their side of the conversation. But I didn’t realize at the time the totality of the mess I was getting involved in.

E was very good at lying. Not because he was a manipulator per say, but more because he didn’t realize it, because he couldn’t keep track of what he had already said, and nothing he spoke was truth. He literally made up everything as the words left his mouth. And my life became a juggling act. Trying to put out fires that his actions caused. Patch up relationships his words damaged. Explain situations that I didn’t completely understand because they were so confusing to even me.

You see at the time, I didn’t know, because E himself didn’t know, was that he is a paranoid schizophrenic. So he literally spent more time listening to the voices in his head then to me. It wasn’t as bad in the start. But after we got married, I noticed a definite downturn. And it was difficult. Something I could explain until I’m blue in the face, but unless you’ve lived through it you can’t fully understand. You can’t describe the feeling of sitting next to someone, trying to have a discussion with them, just the two of you, the person who is supposed to be your most intimate partner in the world, and he’s not there. Oh he’s there physically, but his mind is so far gone that he can’t even answer you until you’ve asked the same question in 6 different ways, dumbing it down each time in hopes that he will “get it” that time. Until your so frustrated you just can’t handle it anymore, and you slowly give up. First just with that conversation, and then over time with any discussion of any meaning because you know it will be to painful to draw out any response of any kind out of him.

A few examples of how E confused my life included how E wanted to go to school, and as his wife I wanted to support him in whatever he wanted to do. So we spent thousands of dollars on courses that he never finished because he kept changing his mind on what he wanted to study. He told me after we were married that he had another kid. So I’m already his wife and now I’m a step-mom? Ok, I guess I just have to go with it. Now we’re sending money back to his ex for the daughter that I had to repeatedly explain to him that he had to support… you know because your her dad. Although his words were that it was in the past and not part of his life now so he shouldn’t have to worry about it. Something that should’ve rang warning bell for me should we ever have our own kids.

Next his dad was sick, and thousands more dollars were sent overseas to support his family. All this money I later found out was for imaginary illnesses and was used to build beautiful houses for my in-laws. While I was working my butt off while both in school and pregnant and we were barely making it here in Canada… I was not happy to say the least. Then I found out he wasn’t even the age he told me he was initially. Like who lies about that? Everything that I thought I knew about him was a lie. Everything I had told to my family and friends about him was wrong. So I have to go back and somehow explain that, no, I in fact know nothing about my husband. It was embarrassing and degrading to say that I married a man I thought I knew, but in reality I have no clue as to who he is.

I guess I just felt I had no reason not to trust what he would tell me, because I never expected anyone to lie about such simple things. As time went on though, I learned the opposite, and that was basically anything E said has to be evaluated and most likely it was chock full of lies. Just because. I learned over time that I couldn’t trust the man I had sworn to trust. I couldn’t believe the man I had vowed to give my life to.

But I decided to do my best to deal with forgiveness. And I wanted to make this “marriage” work. I’m trying to be supportive. I’m trying to help him and his family with whatever I can. I’m trying to move past the lies and embarrassment. I made a commitment with vows that I took seriously. Despite all this junk, I was really trying hard, too hard some people told me, to make it last.

But then one January something happened that I couldn’t move past. Something that no one should move past. I decided that I was worth more. I finally realized that for the last few years I’d been dealing with this man, but my kids deserved everything better than this life we were in.


-Def Leppard/Love Don’t Lie-

I’ve Got To Let It Go We Found Love In A Hopeless Place

I got married at 21. But that wasn’t my first mistake. Now don’t get me wrong, I think you can find your true love at any age… but I had not found it. I was marrying because I had found someone, anyone, who would have me. But neither of us knew what we were doing and no one told us to stop. Although at that time, I probably wouldn’t had listened anyways.

My self-esteem was at an all-time low (At that point, little did I know it would get worse), and I was just grasping at straws. I thought that once I got married things in my life would settle down and just… get better.

I guess I should start at the beginning. I mean what could be so bad that I needed to marry someone I knew didn’t love me in an effort to escape?
I guess the question is how far back do I go? Who knows exactly when I broke, when I became someone I didn’t like when I looked in the mirror. Someone I didn’t think anyone else would like when they looked at me. Someone so desperate and needy that they MARRIED a man who they didn’t love and who didn’t love them back just to escape.

Did it start when my ex was suddenly killed and so I was just trying to find someone, any one to replace that connection?
Or did it start when I woke up in the hospital on morning at only 16 years old and was told basically I have a disorder that will require medication for life and there’s nothing they can do about my constant headaches and random seizures?
Or maybe the multiple suicide attempts should have been a huge indicator.
Or maybe before that when I was the token fat kid in my social group in school. You know, the hilarious and sarcastic one that everyone wants to chill with but no one wants to date.

But most likely it stems back even earlier than that. Probably rooted way back in the fact that my “Daddy issue’s” are deep. Like so deep. Like he cheated on my mom while she was pregnant with me, and asked for a divorce soon after my birth. He didn’t want me from the get go.
So, yeah it might’ve started somewhere way back there.

In that mess at some point is where my life took a huge turn that I didn’t plan. One that I don’t like, and now it’s time to figure out how I got from there to here, and where to go next.


-Rihanna feat. Calvin Harris/We Found Love-