Yes, this is my life

I think there may be some confusion as to how I can "blast" my family history of addiction when I am writing about my own struggles with coping after loss. I am not now nor ever will try to humiliate anyone for my own gain. There is a clear connection with trauma and addiction. Addiction is a disease. It is not any more shameful than having uncontrolled diabetes. When you view addiction as a treatable illness and a psysilogical issue the stereotyping falls away. You would not poke fun at someone dying of cancer but I guess it's ok to poke fun of someone dying with addiction. When you have cancer you are a survivor, with addiction you're just a drunk or junkie in our society. Addicts aren't bad, they are sick. Addiction can make good people do really bad things.  I guess in a respect I was born to be an addict. The word "addict" is as dirty to people as the word suicide. No one wants to talk about it. It's taboo. But I am dealing with both and they ar

The days after Mikes death are a blur to me know. I can remember bits and pieces but there are many things that I know now happened and did not realize at the time.  Mike pulled the trigger at 11:19pm. By the time the SWAT team made entry it was around 3am. The coroner then came. Although he died on September 15, his death certificate says September 16 because that's when he was officially pronounced. I don't know if he died instantly and it's a technicality or if he suffered and actually didn't die until after midnight. I never asked. I still don't think I want to know. I want to think there was no suffering.  When the police were asking me about identifying marks on his body I remember being incredibly frustrated because although I knew exactly what his tattoos were and where I could not remember what side of the body each were. They asked me repeatedly and I was so mad at myself for not remembering left or right. I knew him for 20 years. He'd had the tattoos

The experiences I have lived through help tell the story of my life but they do not define me.  This is something I have to remind even myself sometimes. When ever the topic of suicide or PTSD is heard by a friend I am often the first person they think of. In one way I feel that is a positive thing because I have created an awareness. People know. It is also at times a negative because I am usually the first person they go to when they have a question or concern. I am not a professional and only have personal knowledge. I always feel I might give the wrong answer. I don't want to be responsible for another person dying. As much as I appreciate people having a newfound awareness of the epidemic I also want them to know that PTSD and Veteran Suicide are topics that I am passionate about and are part of my story but they do don't define who I am. I am so much more than a widow or someone with PTSD. I'm a mom, I'm an artist, I'm a writer, I'm a stylist, I'm a co

I have ups and downs since he died. Sometimes I can go hours now without remembering. Sometimes everything reminds me of him, of us, of his death, of our loss. Even crazier, I have noticed that in the oddest times I am struck with what feels like signs from him. Is it my grief? Am I grasping for something, anything? When I was a teenager my favorite movie was The Crow. Even though it was an action film to me it was a romantic story. A dark romantic story, of course but the idea that Eric Draven came back from the dead to avenge his wife's murder was tragically beautiful. Life isn't a movie or comic book. I know this. I know its just in my head and the grief is messing with my mind but I figure if its not hurting me, holding me back or preventing me from moving on I am just going to believe whatever I want. I am moving on. I am doing my best. I feel like hes been sending me these little messages. They come at the weirdest times. Just when I want to give up. When I feel

I have a friend named Paul. I have known him since we were children. He's 35, is a pilot, is energetic, athletic and has a great smile. He's got no mental defects. Yet, he's single. In his opinion he is "lady-delayed". That's Misty-speak for painfully shy around women. Like really really. He's such a catch too. He said today that he doesn't know how to talk to girls. I said "bull, I have a vagina and we talk all the time!"  His response was that I was "taken" and it's easy to talk to women when they are taken and the pressure is off. Ah-ha! I see the issue. So I'm going to give you the inside scoop. The inner workings of the female mind. How to woo them every time. I may get kicked off the team for sharing this but it's worth the risk. He deserves love! Here we go.... If you are just looking for sex, just show up to any bar across the country or hell the world. Find the broad who's stumbling around with one of her sh

I never knew it was possible. I have always thought that its impossible to commit yourself to more than one man and really mean it. Its got to be one or the other. It was always black and white. I would have argued you til you gave up. Until now. I guess my opinion on a lot of things have changed. I love two men and they know about each other. I am very much committed to two men. One is living and one is not. I love them with my whole heart. I don't compare them. They are different. As is my love for them. I am committed to raising my children knowing the love their father and I shared. I gave my very best to him and they are the result. They will never hear me say a negative word about their dad. I don't idealize him. We did not live a fairy tale. I have not put him on a pedestal but he is the man I promised my dedication to until death. I kept my promise until the end. We had a marriage like many others. We had ups and downs. Joy and sorrow. I loved him as he was

INTRO M y husband grew up with both parents in his home. He went to private school. He always had the latest toys as a child. He never got into trouble, always did the right thing. Got a vintage mustang for graduation and went off to the Marines right out of high school. I grew up in a broken home, was physically, emotionally and sexually abused as a child. My parents were addicts. We moved often to avoid bill collectors and drug dealers. I was in trouble often in school. Tardy or absent most of the time. I was kicked out of my home before I was even 18. Which one of us seems more likely to commit suicide? Well I guess that's an easy question because I am writing this today. I was told my whole life I should write a book about growing up because it was so bizarre and troubled that you literally could not make the stories up if you tried. I had no idea that my trying times were not over when I became an adult, rather they only prepared me for what was to come. They toug

My kids will never know how scared I am or how sick I have become since their father died. They wont know that I had a panic attack in the movie theater so severe I went to the restroom to puke  or that on my sons school field trip a balloon popping sent me into fight or flight and I ran from the building crying because they have seen and experienced enough at their young ages. As I sit here watching them laugh and splash in the pool I smile at them but a million thoughts race through my mind. I may have to file bankruptcy, I dont know if I can pay for camp, I have a job interview tomorrow but I dont know if I can afford childcare or Where to look for it. I only know that despite feeling victimized and wronged I still have to provide for them. Im all they have now. I am overwhelmed with the reality of what our life has become. They are so brave. They are the reason I keep trying even on the days im not sure what im trying to do. Ive been assured that im not crazy by professionals b

I just realized Mikes been gone almost twice as long as he was retired. He had 135 days retired. Four and a half months. That's it. After 20 long dedicated years to the Marines and the country there is still so much I don't understand about the circumstances surrounding his death and how it was treated by the Marines, the VA, the government he protected.  His headstones says it all:    PERSIAN GULF                                                     IRAQ                                             AFGHANISTAN  He had so many military services that I couldn't even fit all we wanted on his tombstone. That is a big deal.  We fell into an interesting loophole with his death.  Marines have life insurance automatically for 120 days after retiring. He died on the 135th day. He was 15 days over the cut off. Two weeks made the difference between providing for my kids or not after his death. Meanwhile his headstone proves he was more than entitled. I couldn't even afford his crem

Today is the 8 month mark. He's been gone 8 months. It's weird that counting the time since he passed is a lot like the countdowns we had on so many deployments. Only there is no end reward. There is no emotional reunion. I won't pick out a dress I think he will like or make a banner. He's just gone. It's also strange to me that the rest of the world has moved on and he is forgotten. How is it even possible? I move on a little everyday. Some days I don't budge and some I take a few steps back but he's never out of my mind. It's impossible.  I have lost many people in my life. My best friend at 16, my favorite aunt, my precious grandma. People who had such a major influence on me but none left me as abandoned and broken as losing my husband. His death literally changed my brain function. I can't forget because every time a car backfires or a balloon pops I am instantly right back to that night. Even if I pretended he didn't exist the PTSD reminds

We were In the car this evening. It was a pretty great day. Kira said to me "it's been so boring since daddy died." I asked what she had said. She repeated it and said "he was more fun than anyone" my heart just broke into a million pieces. I didn't correct her. I didn't disagree. I just apologized that he's not here anymore, turned around and cried quietly in the front seat.  I've spent so much time telling them what a hero he was, how much he loved them etc now that's all they know. In that moment of honesty I realized I'm going to be the one they hate. I'm going to be the one they resent when they have been disciplined. He's always going to be the awesome one.  I'm here. I haven't left. Everything I do is for them but I guess it's just part of the deal. I know they miss him, I do too. I know they will build this fairy tale in their head of who he was and part of me is thankful for that. They hopefully won't reme

About two months before Mike died his mother and I got into a heated argument in which she told me I was a bad mother and not an asset to my husband. At first it pissed me off but now it really just makes me think...maybe it's true.  I'm young and hope that one day I will marry again but not until I can be an asset to my future husband and children. I've given it a lot of thought and I can't stand the thought of failing someone else. I will not entertain the idea of marriage until I am completely self sufficient.  This is easier said than done. I was married right out of high school and them again shortly after that divorce. I have never been on my own. And now with three kids. Of course, it's somewhat harder given the circumstances. Once divorced, once widowed. I will get my life in order and make myself proud. I won't let her words be my reality. I'm scared. I was a stay at home mom for 6 years. I'm out of the loop in my industry. I will do it though.

Unfortunately a symptom of my condition is Intrusive Memories. Basically what that means is I have constant thought of the traumatic event or certain aspects of the event. I haven't quite figured out what triggers them but once I begin to think of them its hard to get it off my mind. When this happens I find its best to write about it. Today the recurring memory was the fear that night. More importantly coming to terms with the fact that it was my own husband, the man I lived with for 11 years, with whom I trusted my life and the father of my children. The event itself lasted just minutes. I was on the phone with the 911 operator during the whole thing. When that shot rang out I shouted "there was a shot! He shot!" The operator said to grab the kids and run. Run as far as we could. In order for us to run we had to pass the garage where he was. The terror I felt as we past that spot is indescribable. I just knew if he was not dead already he would turn the gun on us from

So it came and went. Part of me was a bit sad because their father is gone and he's the reason I'm a mom but then there is the part of me that realizes how lucky we are to be alive and together, the kids and I. I know without a doubt I would die for my kids. I would jump in front of a bullet for them because I did. You hear people say "I'd die for you" but until you experience it you cannot truly appreciate the concept. And the strangest thing about it is I didn't think twice about putting myself between my kids and that rifle. The night Mike died he walked around the house casually with that loaded rifle. I did the only thing I could think of in the moment and lured him to the garage and put all of my body weight on the door. He tried to get back in. He pushed and I pushed back harder. The kids slept soundly just ten feet from where we struggled. I just knew that if he did shoot through the door I would be hit and my slumped body would prevent him from gettin

Almost all my friends are like my best friends. I love them with all my heart and appreciate them and all they do. But with that being said, I have two best friend that I would literally die for. And I know they would do the same for me. They are Letty and Ariana. They aren't just friends they are sister wives. Letty is from Texas. She's the epitome of love. She never speaks poorly of others. She makes the best guacamole in the world and is the best mom and wife I have ever met. She and her husband have been married since they were kids. Their love is the kind that make others green with envy. Her husband is just as kind and loving, gracious and loyal as her. They have two sons who are affectionate, happy and absolutely adorable. Letty has always been there for me no matter how ridiculous my request. She has the most beautiful skin I have ever seen and lips to die for. Ariana is the baby of our trio but you'd never know by talking to her. She knows everything there is to kn

I've been getting messages all day wishing me a happy one. The only problem is I am not a military spouse anymore. I was for 11 years.  During that time I did everything expected of a Marine wife. I kept the house spotless, raised our children during many deployments. I kept our yard beautiful and won Yard Of the Quarter. I made costumes for all the neighbor kids In our housing area on base. Participated in unit functions, helped younger wives, babysat, did hair for many many wives for formal dances. I held the hands of wives giving birth while their husbands were in war zones.  When news came that the husbands unit of a friend took casualties I cried with the until names were released and we found out he was ok.  I even ran a website/message board for wives old and new. I wrote a comedy book about the craziness that is the Marine lifestyle. For 8 years when he struggled with PTSD, I stood by him. Even when I wanted to give up and walk away, I kept loving him and trying harder to m

Tonight I'm sick of pretending I'm healed and beyond pain. Because I'm not. There is a constant battle in my head. The part that says he was sick and not responsible for for what he did and then the part that says  NO! fuck that. Fuck him. How dare he leave us. More importantly how dare he leave our babies. They are beautiful and wonderful. They deserve so much more.  He left me to pick up the pieces. He knows I'm scared of broken glass.  I stood by him for 11 years when at times he didn't deserve me. I have up friends, jobs, schools, my life to support him. I lost my own identity somewhere along the way. I was a stay at home mom for 6 years. I had no relevant skills or experience in my line of work after all the time.  Four deployments, countless training trips. 12-14 hour days...all with the promise that when the Marines were done with him I would get a chance to concentrate on things I'm interested. We could actually plan family trips and fuck...just breathe

I'm not sure if the way I love has changed because of the great loss I felt in the death of my husband or if it's due to age and maturity.  It might even be a combination of both. Either way it is different now than it was when I first fell in love. When I think back to the beginning of my relationship with Mike I was the tender age of 14. We lost touch for nearly a decade and at 22 I was head over heals in love with him. I didn't think about the future, or how we would make it. I just knew I would do anything I had to in order to be by his side. It was a foolish view in hindsight but I just knew with him beside me we would make it through anything. We would deal with everything as it came. Blindly and naively leaping into such an adult decision. And somehow it worked. For 11 years we were married. Until death. Through deployments, moving around the country, all the ups and downs the Marine Corps sent our way. But then things changed. He was gone and everything I knew was g

Our days are getting easier. We are slipping into a new normal that is filled with laughter and happiness. We spent all weekend swimming with friends. Sean and I took a ride on the bike today and then we took the kids to a delicious little diner here in Fallbrook.  We are all accepting the joy in life. But, after coming home from an amazing weekend I checked Facebook to see a friend had liked a wedding photo of me and Mike. It was like a punch in the gut. I have not nor will I ever forget him and the life we created together. It is impossible. I am allowing myself to move on and create a life for us. Yes, it's hard. It's made easier with the help of amazing people around me daily.  Yesterday the punch in the gut was also on Facebook. In my newsfeed someone was excitedly posting plans for an upcoming concert...the day before Mike would turn 40. It was a double whammy. First because he would have been 40 this year. It's a big birthday. Also I teased him relentlessly for 20 ye

It wasn't really a good dream. He was standing in the garage with that same hollow look in his eyes. It was as if I were in there with him. Or watching it on TV. It was dark all around him but looked as if a spotlight was on him. He made the sign of the cross...father...son...holy spirit...then brought his arm up. I knew what was happening next but I was powerless to stop it. It was in slow motion. I didn't hear the clap of the shot though just an intense flash of light, then it woke up. The image has been replaying in my mind all day. I can't shut it off. The weird thing about loving someone is it just never goes away. Unconditional love is a blessing and a curse. He's always in the back of my mind. When I'm at the grocery store I have to stop myself from getting Dr. Pepper and double stuffed Oreos because I know they were his favorite. When I see a mustang or a Marine. When I was at a friends house last week he was sawing wood. The scent of the hot saw dust remind