On the brink.

I'm fighting this so hard it hurts. I'm screaming inside for any and every reason you could ever imagine.
As of Tuesday I will be induced to begin labor. I'm angry about this. I have gone through weeks of pain because the doctor didn't believe me when I told him I wouldn't dilate on my own. Now he's saying we can induce Tuesday. At that point I asked to hold off til Friday because my oldest son has school, even if that meant bearing through this pain a few more days. It's just more feasible for my family's routine. That's apparently not an option either. I hate feeling so helpless. I hate that he hasn't listened, or even that he has but hasn't been able to do anything about it. I hate that I've gone through weeks of unnecessary pain all because of a stupid fucking insurance claim. Because they apparently won't cover it unless I'm a week past due. I mean seriously? Since when do insurance companies tell the doctors what to do? And now here I am left worrying and trying to plan everything to make sure Anakin is taken care of, that I don't come home to a fucking mess, that my family is cared for. I'm angry that every plan has gone to absolute shit, but then again this pregnancy itself wasn't planned.  Oh, the irony there. And now here we are being induced in absolute horrible timing. I'm also infuriated that this child's father could not possibly give a fuck less about anything but himself. It may not matter to those around me, but it matters to me a great deal. I need to know that they will have things handled and yet again that responsibility falls on me. Everyone keeps saying everything will be alright, but nobody has the words or actions to prove that to be true. Nobody realizes the weight of the world on my shoulders to make sure this goes smoothly for everyone. The little things that add up every day keeping my head in order. Nobody understands the impact of being nine months pregnant, bipolar and OCD. And it isn't their fault. Everyone is so used to me handling everything that they have no clue what the weight of that responsibility feels like to me. I have to make sure everyone else is taken care of first and by the end of it all I'm so frustrated that I'm on the brink of losing it entirely. Which is where I am today. Someone can literally say hi and I envision myself strangling them. I literally have to withhold myself from doing so. I want silence, but the blaring thoughts in my mind refuse to quiet. So here I am, yet again, in the bathroom floor trying to get it out anyway I know how. And I moved to outside, the walls were reflecting my emotions and smothering me. Which makes me angry all over again. I miss running. Pushing myself to the physical limit, sweating out the worry and anger and darkness. Welcoming the physical exhaustion, the wind tearing through my lungs and clearing out the webs of these disorders stuck in there. As of today I'm not even allowed to fucking swim. The toll that takes on me emotionally is indescribable. A big body of water is my refuge when all else fails. There isn't enough hot water in the world to sting away the fury burning within me currently so my 30 minute shower only wasted money, it did nothing to calm me. Everyone is sleeping, so even my favorite past time of tearing apart the house and cleaning out the corners like the inky blackness seeping through my soul is out of the question. I'm losing my grip on this y'all. I used to have help. The St Johns Wart eased the black tendrils of fury burning through my every blood vessel. Nine months without it has proven just how much it truly helps. It's been a very long time since I've been so on edge. The nightmares have returned. Night terrors that I try to hide memories coming back to haunt me. The irritability is a dead give away though. And I see the concern in their eyes. The sideways glances just to make sure I'm still checked in, that I still have a grip on this disorder. The constant "are you okay". The tentative Hello and obvious suppression of anything at all that could set me off on another tirade. The relief in their eyes when my rant isn't directed at them. The pain when I physically and emotionally can not return the love that is so graciously yet cautiously showed to me. I see these things. I hate myself for it. I hate being like this. I'm desperately grasping at straws, begging for mercy from myself. Drowning in my own emotions and praying they see that it's not them, it's me. I'm tearing out my hair in my mind, screaming at myself to knock it off, breaking down at the slightest failure because I know where this path leads and it isn't somewhere I want to be. This isn't me. But that's just it. This IS a part of me. Part of me that I've controlled so long I no longer know how to handle losing that control, even briefly. And I feel myself on that edge. The Dark corners of my soul edging me closer to jumping into the black abyss being bipolar can create out of nowhere. It feeds on every negative you try to forget. Hungrily eating all that is good and beautiful in this universe. The nothingness that screams so loud it'll shatter your soul. I'm crying out for anyone to save me. Save me from myself, pull me out of these emotional rapids. But there's nothing we can do. Only endure until Tuesday. And that knowledge is gut wrenching in a way words could never describe. Top that with having to plan out every little detail of EVERYTHING while completely disrupting your family's newly engaged routine. Every time someone tells me it will all work out I physically restrain myself from spitting in their face. Who will sweep the floors? Fill the ice trays? Wipe down the counters? Will anyone else think to wipe down the bathroom properly? Double check to make sure we have everything we need? Make sure everything is organized so it can be found in the middle of the night, stumbling around in the darkness while half asleep with a newborn crying in your ear? These things may seem frivolous to you, but they're imperative to me. How will I know Anakin is on time for school while I'm hosoitalized? What will happen if he has a melt down like he did today? Can they handle it? Can they ease his fears? I'm his mother. That's my role. I know that this pregnancy is a blessing, deep in my heart I know that to be true. I hold no ill feelings towards my growing, soon to be here, son. But it has been one thing after another since the beginning of this journey and it's becoming harder and harder to bear when I didn't want this in the first place. My anger and resentment there is towards his father. That mother fucker that "wanted to start a family and settle down" didn't even make it to the appointment today. Said he was up all night puking and didn't want to spread it. I don't even trust him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt there. He gets to go on about his daily business gallivanting around and pretending as if he's prince charming while the ENTIRE weight of this pregnancy and child thereafter has fallen on MY shoulders. He gets to put on his front of being the good guy (yet do absolutely NOTHING except respond 'k' to the message letting him know his child will be born Tuesday). It's me and those around me dealing with every emotional/physical/financial issue that has risen. Then when he gets the results of the paternity test (that he expected ME to arrange) he'll just swoop right in and be Oh so fucking let me shove it down your throat wonderful. He doesn't have to deal with taking care of our child those first few months. No, he gets to wait until mediation because he CHOOSES to. He gets to stop by randomly to see his son, because I'm trying to be fair. Drop in, coo a little and oretend to be a daddy, then leave and go back to his life. We get to deal with the responisibility of caring for this child. And don't get me wrong, I'm beyond overjoyed that the Lord blessed me with another child. I embrace that responsibility with everything in my heart. I know that the joys of little William Clay will far outweigh anything else. His father though? I hate him. I despise his very existence. I can't blame (though blame sounds negative, I can't find other words) him entirely for this pregnancy but I have no doubt he wanted this to happen thinking it would somehow bring us back together. He hinted at such himself. The thought is sickening. The thought of him literally makes me physically sick. He hasn't been here at all. Made no effort to be any part of this pregnancy other than showing up to doctor appointments. Let's not forget me being cussed out because originally I didn't have insurance and they didnt reimburse him for the first few appointments. Yet he'll get to reap all the benefits of being "daddy" because I can't bring myself to lie to my child. He's no more a father than the dirt on my shoe. I seriously wish the ass would just walk away. The man that HAS been here through it all and DESERVES to be called Daddy is instead taking a back seat out of respect for what is "right". Let us raise this child because we're obviously the ones that truly care. Walk away and continue living your lie of a life. Don't drag my child through this. I already feel sorry for my child that my own naive decisions caused him to have such a lying, manipulative jerk as a father. That is my only true issue with this pregnancy. I burn in anger that I will never allow myself to let my child know these things. He'll learn on his own in his own time. I pray to God that he grows with the ability to see the truth beneath the facade his father puts on. But even I fell for it, if only for a short while. Even still, with all of my anger burning within, I pray that things work out in the best interest of my child. I have grit my teeth and tried to be as reasonable as possible. I can honestly say that. It may not be getting us anywhere, but when the day comes and my child asks, I can honestly say I've tried my hardest to be fair. That small triumph is doing little to ease my fury tonight though. An hour into writing and I'm still burning within, though not as on edge as earlier. I believe I could now face humanity without acting like a savage. All I can do right now though is ask my support group to bear with me at this point. Hold me when I cry, but silently. I do not need your words, I need your presence. Take my anger and tears with a grain of salt because I promise it is not truly directed at you. Genuinely want to help, but don't let it tear you apart if there's nothing you can do. The problem lies within my chemical/hormonal imbalance, not your actions. Your presence during my suffering means more than you'll ever know. Understand that I know things will work out, but that I reserve the right to lose my shit every now and then. See the struggle in my eyes, but know that relief is around the corner. And for the safety of my sanity I pray you fill the damn ice trays and wipe the hair out of the sink. And yes, even I laughed there. But while you're at it, I would be eternally grateful if you also swept the floors ;) Those of you that love me so deeply, I know you are reading this.  I see your love. Even when it seems hopeless, know that it helps. Know that even in the midst of this emotional turmoil I am currently listening to Cher 'You Haven't Seen The Last Of Me' and my heart is singing every word faithfully. We will get through this as we have gotten through so much else. It will be alright.