It feels like I've always been the girl that no one ever worries about. Like they just think they don't have to. I think I figured out why tonight.

I'm the girl that tried to kill herself, passed out on her bedroom floor, woke up in the morning angry to discover she was still alive; got dressed, and went to work with a smile on her face like nothing ever happened the night before. Like everything was perfect in her life.

That's me.

Faking smiles and pretending life is worth living on a daily basis.

Meanwhile I hold so much pain inside that even I'm not sure how I'm still standing; let alone smiling and laughing in the presence of the people that I let believe I'm happy. What is happiness anyway?

I think I knew once. I know I was happy.

Back then I guess I didn't realize it, but I would give anything to go back to the year of 2014. Before I was made to believe I was crazy. Before my husband wanted literally any other woman in the world beside me. My third son had been born that year.

I was happy.

I was overwhelmed trying to raise a 6 year old, a 1 year old, and a newborn basically by myself; but I was happy.

Until I discovered how unhappy my husband must have been. He had to have been, because he was my best friend and he didn't even tell me that he was slowly ripping us apart for reasons that could have been avoided. By the time I had found out what he was really doing to make himself feel alive, it was too late.

Silly me.

I didn't know that I was too late to save him.

But even if I had known, I would've still tried anyway.

He was my life. My world. All I had known since I was a 16 year old girl, living in a broken home and hating life. From the moment I met him, my entire life changed. I didn't know it back then; but it did.

So it's not too hard to see that when I found out he had become addicted to crystal meth and other women, while I was alone and raising 3 children- I blamed myself.

That year was just the beginning of many more to come that would slowly destroy me and everything I was.

I didn't know back then that by 2022 I would still be searching for the piece of my heart that went missing with my happiness. I can't seem to find the light at the other end of the tunnel.

I just wanna get out of the fucking dark.

It seems like it should be easy, but for some reason everything in my life now just feels so fucking hard. I'm starting to think I'm not meant for happiness. I'm not meant for love. I'm not meant for the things that make you feel human. I don't remember life without pain and constant sadness. I really have tried to find a way out of this.

I swear I have.

But I can't move on.

I can't let go.

I can't see anything but the moment I realized it all disappeared and I was so clueless.

I felt so helpless.

And I still do.

I think I always will.

If he had just told me what he was feeling, we could still be happy. I wouldn't be constantly relapsing from an eating disorder that damn near took my life in 2016 because I thought being skinny would make him want me again. I wouldn't be drunk every weekend trying to numb the pain that only gets sharper with every shot I take. And I know it, but I can't stop it anymore.

I would still be a good mom to my kids.

I was such a great fucking mom.

Now I don't even think I would like me if I were my kids.

It breaks my heart more every time I think about how much I did with them when they were too young to even remember me that way.

It fucking sucks the life right out me.

Still I walk around with this smile and go to work with an energetic personality that you would never guess is a complete facade. But I feel it at the end of the day when I get in my car to drive home. I feel it every night when I'm alone and I can't sleep without self-medicating. I'm dying inside and for the last 2 years I've been completely alone with it.

He took my best friend with him when he left.

Fucked her and made her his best friend.

Leaving me to deal with this constant suffering completely alone.

I've never felt what it's like to not have a single person that you can be yourself with. That you open up to and be vulnerable with. That you cry on and confide in.

He took every life line I had when he destroyed the only thing I knew.

The only thing I ever wanted.

Us.

He killed me.

And he's okay.

And it makes me feel more worthless than I ever thought a person could actually feel. I don't feel like I have a purpose anymore. I feel so lost that there's just no bringing me back now. I understand why people commit suicide now; more than I ever thought I did before.

They must've felt just like this.

I get it. I get it, because I think I'm right there with them.

How could anyone be better off with me alive when I feel like my life is meaningless?