I swear on all that is holy... If my husband asks me why I’m suicidal or why I’m like this... Or try to tell me that if I was happy with him, our life, our kids, our marriage, that I wouldn’t be suicidal and wouldn’t want to hurt myself... Or try to fix me like I’m a blown up motor... I’m going to lose the last of my very limited cool beans in me I have left, and walk right into oncoming traffic. Good thing I know he has good intentions behind it all, but holy bajeebers, not everything is about you. I’m just this way!
Quit asking me why! I don’t know! I’ve never known! And yes, “I don’t know” is too a real answer. And don’t ask me stupid questions like, “Is that why you had some of my knives in your safe?” You’ll get a stupid answer back like “Let’s be real. We both know your knives are too dull. I’d buy a new razor knife.”
And really... “You’re willing to give up an eternity in Heaven over being selfish and killing yourself? You’re willing to f*** up me and the girls that bad?” Yeah, just throw some salt on there. Rub it in while you’re at it.
He’s lucky he’s good looking and a better person than I deserve. I don’t deserve him. Or our kids. Or our life. Definitely not my own life.
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