When all this shit happened, I thought it would be a good thing to have a plan for my kids. What to do if I get hit by a bus, who to call, all that jazz.
I managed to get them set up with cell phones, and I set myself up too. We programmed in emergency numbers.
I don't know, is that the modern equivalent of an emergency plan?
I wanted to write it down for them. Maybe it's because I've worked as a paramedic before and I've seen the horrible things that take people by surprise but I wanted the piece of mind that comes with the knowledge that my kids would know what to do in an emergency. Call this person, call that person. This is where this piece of paper is, this is where that piece of paper is.
I'm glad I don't have a plan right now.
A plan gives a person piece of mind, but right now it also gives permission.
To have your stbx cheat on you and molest your child and demand money from you when you are holding yourself together with bubblegum, your family together with silly putty, and your life together with those little tiny bandaids that always come off and are absolutely ridiculous, is a little too much to take. When you used all your money to pay off bills and fix the house and you're being treated like you took a Carribean vacation is maddening.
Going into the bathroom at work once to fall apart and curl into a ball and completly lose your shit may be understandable. Doing it three times is a little frightening. Heading home and being forced to pull off the road because you couldn't see any longer due to crying and coming to the realization that all you want to do is disappear and too bad you didn't have that plan in writing and...and...and...
Up to now, I've been able to latch onto things that I know will keep me going. The very basics. My kids. My pets. My friends.
Dear God, all I want to do is disappear.