Posted in Anxiety, Depression, Memories

How Anxiety Almost Terminated My Marriage

Past relationships are always a hard thing to talk about. Whether you talk to a partner about them, or a family member, or even a stranger. You always get that feeling that they aren’t going to understand what you went through, and more often than not, you are met with someone that tries to downplay your feelings. I can’t tell you how many times people respond with, “Why didn’t you just leave?”

Some of us don’t. Some of us stay in that abusive relationship because it is something we’ve always known. I’ve always experienced a father who threw dishes at me since I was 6. I always experienced that alcohol made someone pick a child off the ground and throw them into the wall, or on the couch. I’ve always experienced that feeling like you are constantly walking on egg shells, expecting the worst to happen.

So when I met Cory, I expected nothing more. He was the first person I gave in to. The first person I fell in love with. The first person I went out publicly with, and the first person I started sharing my past with. It didn’t start out abusive. It started like most romances do, butterflies and hand holding. Cuddling late into the night, talking. Somewhere over the course of our dating relationship, he stopped paying for meals. He stopped wanting to hold hands publicly. He started getting angry for things that were out of my control. Things like our landlord not fixing the heater faster than four days. Things like that would always end with me being reminded how stupid I was. How useless I was. How ugly I was. When the words didn’t make me cry, out would come the fists, or the slapping. I’d been beaten so much as a child that I was almost numb to it. At the end of every day, Cory would always come back and tell me he loved me and that he was sorry. I was helpless. I was a scared mouse, happy to have found someone who would always forgive me for my mistakes, always stuck in that terrifying mouse trap. Notice that my mistakes were hardly anything I was doing, just merely existing. Abusive people twist your mind and make you thankful for them. That staying with them is the best thing that’s ever happened to you because without them you are nothing but a pile of garbage. You begin to think this is what love is. Then one day I found out that he slept with his ex. Cory cheated, and when I confronted him, he told me he was poly-amorous. Essentially able to love multiple people through sex- was his definition. He apologized and said he loved me, and I believed him until after nearly 3 months of him cheating and coming back to apologize did the light bulb in my head finally turn on. We terminated our relationship immediately when I stopped being that terrified mouse. The little rodent that would always take his apologies like they were the words of god. I wasn’t his little pet or puppet anymore.

Years later I meet my (now) husband, Patrick. We fall in love. We have our ups, and our downs. Once in a blue moon we have  our verbal fights, but we have never laid hands on one another in anger. He has always listened about my past with Cory, and hugged me through the nightmares, the tears as I eventually overcame the abuse. I made an effort to find my father, to get to know him and overcome the fears I had as a child. Patrick made me feel whole again. He made everything from my childhood, my being raped, by broken relationship from my father, and my past relationships better. He made me better. So when gay marriage became legal in California, we went and immediately got married, that week, in the courthouse. It was small, with just 6 people from my side of the family, but it was beautiful. I’ll never forget the way he smiled at me as I tried to repeat my vows from the pastor through tears and stutters.

We had been married for nearly two years before we started to experiment with things inside the bedroom. It’s not as if we were bored of our usual encounter, but we had just become so comfortable with each other, we started telling each other about certain fantasies. Eventually we both agreed that we would like to try having someone else in the bedroom with us. So we picked someone out together, invited them over, things heated up, and eventually the night came and went. The next morning after the third wheel left, we decided that this was something that wasn’t for us. We liked our bedroom stuff better when it was just us. I don’t mean to put down others at all, but this was just something we both felt. We felt as though it was less intimate with someone else, and the residual feelings that I had from my past relationship with Cory had started to creep back. The feeling and fear that I would be cheated on. I was honest with Patrick about my fears after we came to the conclusion that we liked it being just the two of us, and he assured me nothing would happen unless I was there with him and comfortable.


So, we were happy. We hadn’t had anything major happen in our marriage since, it was beautiful and peaceful. Until last week when Patrick was sitting in bed with me and asked if I remembered our third wheel. I had told him yes and asked why he was brought up, for I had not thought about that guy in a while. Patrick then went on to tell me that he had been talking to him for a little while, and the third wheel was telling him about being a caregiver. Third wheel apparently went on to tell my husband that a caregiver was someone who would provide financially and sexually, all the things that they needed.

Immediately the fears of cheating came back to me. I never forbid Patrick from talking to anyone, and tried to trust him. I never wanted to be that person in a relationship who asked to see his phone or text messages. However, the way I was feeling made me ask to read the message to see the context in which it was presented because the whole conversation took me right back to how I felt when I was cheated on by Cory.

Reading over the messages, I saw how Third Wheel was constantly hinting towards my husband about being sexual. How he was shifting the conversation slightly by asking sexual questions here or there. Patrick would always respond with, “my husband and I do this,” or things to similar effect, but when Patrick typed those responses back, Third Wheel would come back with, “Oh that’s turning me on.”

I kept reading these messages back and forth until I got past the caregiver section, and when I got to the bottom after Third Wheel explained what a caregiver was, I saw the words from my husband say, “Do you want me to be that for you?”

Immediately my heart was broken. It hurt so bad to see something like that, because I was reading that as Patrick offering. Patrick offering to be something like that for someone else and nobody had talked to me about anything beforehand. I took that as cheating. Especially because of what happened to me in my past relationship.


I immediately told Patrick how I felt and when he reached out to me, I pushed his hand away and started crying. I hit a super low point. Immediately my anxiety and depression came in, and I felt those feelings surging back. The feeling of being that terrified mouse. Waiting to be hit, to be slapped, to be called names, to feel the pain, and then hear the apology. Patrick tried to say that he didn’t mean for it to come across that way and he was sorry, but I screamed at him that he sounded just like Cory. That his apology was garbage and that it didn’t matter what the intent was because it’s what happened.

At the end of the day, he sent someone a message about sexual things, and Third Wheel responded with, “that’s turning me on.” Which seemed like key words to me, about where a conversation was going. I cried for hours, and Patrick cried alongside me. We talked back and forth, and he assured me he didn’t mean anything by it. That he was just learning what a caregiver was and was confused because it seemed like Third Wheel was wanting him to be that. Patrick said when he asked if that’s what Third Wheel wanted him to be, it wasn’t because he was offering, but Patrick was just trying to make it clear as to what the intent was.

It’s taken me days to get over it. I clocked Third Wheel on facebook. I told Patrick that I couldn’t handle them talking or messaging each other anymore. Patrick has respected my feelings. Patrick has assured me that he didn’t mean it to seem like he was propositioning someone outside of our marriage. He said he knows how I went through an abusive relationship, and if I have to be that crazy spouse that wants to check his phone, to simply ask and take it. He said he has nothing to hide and wants to be married to me. That he wants to grow old with me. Have kids with me. That he’s simply too damn old and tired as he is now to even try and play those cheating games.

I know what he is saying is the truth, but it’s hard when you’ve grown up like this. When you went through abuse throughout your whole childhood from an alcoholic with a bad temper. It’s hard when you’ve been raped by someone you trusted, to overcome the anxiety that keeps you from feeling safe or trusting someone again. It’s hard to not feel like someone is going to cheat on you again when you went through that already with someone in the past. Luckily, I found someone who is empathetic with the way that I feel. I can only hope more people are out there like Patrick, and that those empathetic individuals find those out there that are broken, like me.

I hope that others mend themselves, and are able to get over those bumps in the road, built by the past. I know today was a rant and it has been a while since I’ve done an update, but this is where my mind has been the past week. This is what I have been trying to overcome mentally.

I feel better, and Patrick texts me multiple times throughout his work period, talking to me about his shift, what he wants for dinner, and even the cutesy things like complimenting me, or saying he misses me. I just feel so stupid for letting my past relationships, and past experiences almost terminate our marriage. Almost ruin something so good, pure and beautiful.


If you managed to make it all of the way through my jumbled text rant from my brain, I am:

1) Sorry

2) Thankful for all the kind words that people have sent me. I know I am a little broken, but this blog and the kind words from different readers whether it be in the comments or getting emails, means a lot. I genuinely appreciate you kind souls out there.

Posted in Anxiety, Failed to Exercise, Personal Accountability, Weight Loss Journey

McDonalds Food Poisoning and New Homeowner Questions

So as an update: (possibly gross TMI- you’ve been warned)

I decided to get McDonald’s the other night, a double cheeseburger fries and a coke. A “treat,” I told myself, for adulting so well and being on top of bills/exercise.
I then spent the next two days constantly running to the bathroom to explode and be sick out of both ends. Getting very little sleep with my stomach in knots, as my body rejected that meal and punished me for two days.
My husband believes that it’s because I haven’t eaten fast food in forever, and have been eating healthy foods regularly, my mother thinks it was food poisoning.
Regardless- it was an event in my life that has officially killed any burger joints for me. The thought of them makes me sick.

I got so dizzy, I literally passed out on the bathroom floor at 430 in the morning.

Never. I’m never. Eating that crap again.

Needless to say I haven’t done T25, and I’ll be picking up on Monday when my body is not trying to kill me.

Which brings me to my second half of this post

Homeowners- I have a few questions if you’d care to lay down some wisdom.
When does paying your mortgage become less of a burden?

When do mortgage insurance premiums go away?

When did you first refinance your home and why?
We aren’t behind by any means but if just the MIP (over $200 a month) were out of the way, we’d be able to consider building an actual family.
Any insight/advice you have to preemptively help us would be appreciated.

Posted in Anxiety, Depression

“Why Do You Let Past Fears Control You?

Make them fears your bitch.

I love my sister and I know she didn’t mean to come from a hostile place, but this is something people who suffer from anxiety or depression deal with every day.

We constantly deal with people trying to tell us to “just get over it”. It’s like, “I never thought of that,” right? Just don’t let it affect you, pick yourself up by your bootstraps and move on, stronger than you were before. There lies the problem, however, I would give anything to not let anxiety or depression strike me in this way. To not feel like I can’t breathe, or like my heart is going to detach itself from my body and run out of my chest. To not get “over emotional” to jokes or “take things too seriously”. I would love to not have a dream and have it strike me to the core, making me afraid to wander through my own home, fearful that past demons would be just around the corner. I would give anything to not push my husband’s hand away on my bad days, because his touch reminds me of my dream I had the night before, and even though he’s never hurt me the way others have, my brain still connects a loving hand to a rapists.
People who suffer from anxiety or depression don’t choose to feel that panic or that constant “inability to breathe” feeling. We don’t get excited to share our fears with others, and would prefer to keep it to ourselves, let it fester until something “crazy” like suicide crosses our mind. The feelings, or in my case yesterday: rape memories, come back and fill your headspace with a darkness so thick, it makes you unable to stand.  Unable to think clearly. Unable to function.
We feel helpless. We feel alone. And comments like the one above only solidify it. They make us feel like we ARE crazy. Like there IS something wrong with us specifically and that others could never understand how we feel. If I hadn’t married the wonderful supportive man that I did, I know I would have followed through on some of my more darker thoughts.  I would have harmed myself in ways that I probably wouldn’t be alive today.

This is something people need to understand more. Not just post on social media about being available when a celebrity dies due to suicide when linked to depression. 

The mindset of “just get over it” needs to change.

Posted in Anxiety, Depression, Dreams

Rape Victim/Rape Survivor

I could feel his hands rubbing over my shirt. Sliding them down my body as if they were slow moving snails without leaving evidence of their travels. His hands reaching down, rubbing me over my sweatpants.

Myself, not even understanding what’s going on, still drunk on my deep sleep. That cloudy hangover, intent on making sure to keep my eyes closed. Maybe it was my brain trying to make me sleep through it, to not remember.

I laid there, trying to breathe normally, thinking this had to be a dream. I didn’t know what was going on, why I was being touched. Why I was being rubbed this way. I tried to be still, dead weight like a heavy log, as if that would stop him from pulling down my sweatpants.

I laid there, still, exposed, eyes closed, praying to myself not to move. If I didn’t move then he would see that I wasn’t saying yes to this. That I didn’t want this. I was wrong, as he put his mouth on me. Immediately my body went into panic mode.

I’d never felt that feeling before, being only seven years old, but in my gut- deep in my soul, I knew that this was wrong. My body ignored my brain praying to hold still, and began the attempt to wriggle away. But like a worm in a birds mouth, the predator had already started upon his prey.

Immediately the gentle rubbing ceased as his hands became solid blocks of iron. One hand holding my lower body still, while his hand that was rubbing my chest grabbed at my throat. I tried to push his hand away and started my feeble attempt at a call for my mother, but when I made the slightest whisper, I felt pain as a hand was slapped down over my mouth.

Then that demonic face stopped working my lower half, and presented itself before mine. I could feel his breath, hot and humid. The spittle coming off his mouth as he explained to me in a hushed gravely voice that if anyone were to found out about this, he’d kill them, and then me. He reminded me that I wouldn’t want to cause others pain, when we could just play, and move on. Nobody had to get hurt.

I was so scared. I kept trying to wriggle away, to get away from thus man I’ve known for so long. This man that used to babysit my sister and I. This man that used to make us feel so safe when mommy and daddy were gone. The man that gave us our first green apple. Who laughed when we said it was sour, but squealed in delight with every bite. I let out another attempt to call for help, but was met with a slap to the face, and then his heavy hand covering my mouth.  His hand was so large compared to my small face, I found it hard to breathe, for his hand all but sealed most of my nostrils from any air coming in or out.

His mouth went back to my lower body, as I laid there, pinned and helpless. I cried silently. The tears rolling down my cheeks. Afraid to move, afraid to be hit. Afraid to call for help and have anyone else experience this. I wanted our dog. I wanted my mom. I wanted to sleep. I wanted anything than to be here with my uncle.

Then a feeling washed over me, an explosion of something that in my brain. It caused me to convulse and cry out against the hand on my mouth. I didn’t know what it was but I knew without a doubt that it was the most confused I’d ever been in my life. How could fear and pain lead me to a sensation that felt….good, but still left my gut knotted and  constantly telling me something was horribly wrong with the whole situation.

My uncle removed his hand from my mouth, let go of my body, and withdrew his mouth from my lower half. I immediately grabbed my sweats and pulled them up over my waist, rolled over and tried to go to sleep. It felt like the process of covering myself and rolling over took years, and I’ll never forget him sounding hurt when he said, “oh come on, don’t be like that.”

I rolled onto my stomach, pushed my face into my pillow and cried. I tried to ignore the pain in my face, to ignore the warmth from where he hit me, to ignore that feeling of wanting to die or to be anywhere but here.

I’m sorry for not posting my workouts for yesterday and today. This is where my mind went Monday morning. This is what I’ve been battling. I’ve been trying to get myself out of bed. To face the day. But when I start to move, my brain betrays me and shows me images of that night.

For example: Today I slept through all three of my alarms and still had to force myself out of bed at noon.

It’s debilitating. I thought I was past this. I hadn’t thought about my Uncle Oggy since elementary school. But here I was, afraid to go outside.

Here I was, pushing away from my husband, telling him not to touch me. Making him sleep as far as he can on the other side of our bed, while I sat there and cried myself to sleep.

I wonder if Oggy knows how painful that one incident is for me. Still. Nearly 20 years later, I can still remember it, still fear him, as if it happened yesterday.

I remember the way his breath smelled, the way the sheets made my skin itch, the sound of his voice, and the cold feeling of death I felt on the inside, when someone I trusted violated me in such a way.

I wonder if other rape victims are this broken. Are still this affected.

I wonder if I’m crazy, hurting my husband, making him feel like hes doing something wrong, when some days the memories flood back and I become this cold shell of who I usually am.
I wonder if other rape victims call this surviving.

Some days…I just can’t do this. I can’t breathe. I can’t just…be.

Posted in Anxiety, Depression

Fighting Sleep Meds

Today I have to wake up early.

My mother wants me and my husband to drive a few hours south with her and her husband this morning so that we can scope out a few campsites and see if the river there has a good swimming location. I’m slightly annoyed because she knew that my sister and I made plans to play Pathfinder (game like Dungeons and Dragons) today. Anyone who has played that type of game knows that you need a few hours to get immersed in it, and we were already short on time because my husband works at 6am tomorrow, so we can’t stay up late into the night. Add on to that, my sister and brother are kate to everything- it’s their thing- so we have to start by 2pm. Which means we won’t start toll 4pm, which lets us play for  3 hours before my husband needs to be in bed for work tomorrow. 

However, telling my mother “No” turns her into a whiny 4 year old and it’s just easier to tell her that we will go earlier, so that we can get back in time for our already scheduled game day. So I’m fighting my sleep medicine, forcing myself to get out of bed. 7:45 has my alarm ringing, and I’ve finally just begun to move off the bed. Ignoring the urge to just hit snooze and embrace sleep. I’m making my way to shower and grab a cup of coffee.
There are worse things I could be doing with my morning than going for a drive in the sun, right?

At least that’s what I keep telling my super annoyed and decaffeinated brain.

Good morning.

Posted in Anxiety, Personal Accountability, Weight Loss Journey

400lbs- Weight Loss Journey, Day 4

An intervals.

I feel as though you should actually have abs, or have ever had abs in order to do this workout. An important note: neither apply to me. I’m not athletic, I’m just an ordinary extremely overweight man.
All of that being said, Ab Intervals sucks ass. Not in the sense that it was a bad work out, but the sense that it is the most intense experience I’ve ever had. The moves that you have to hold feel like you are holding them for an eternity. During the whole work out you have Sean trying to keep his happy athletic face churning out words of motivation. I don’t know about the rest of You, but all that does is make me want to sit on his face. Especially when he says “Get it Done,” like it’s just THAT simple.

Add on to that, my body is already sore from the previous days, and mentally my brain is arguing with my body. They are constantly debating about whether or not I can do any of the moves or hold them in place. Tanya is my best friend in this workout. I’m 100% positive that if she wasn’t modifying the program for those of us that lack a better health, I’d have given up on day 1.
It frazzled my brain so much that I forgot to take my picture. But I’m just happy that I was able to force myself to do it. My workout buddy wasn’t able to make it to my house today, but she promised to send her sweaty selfie as proof. Hopefully she can meet up with me on Sunday to finish this week strong.

Bring on the final day and the start of week two!

Posted in Anxiety, Personal Accountability, Weight Loss Journey

400lbs – Weight Loss Journey, Day 3 Caught up

Earlier today I told myself I’d just make up the missed day this Saturday and Sunday. 

I was sitting there in my computer chair, saw how beautiful it was outside and decided I was going to make up that damn Total Body Circuit and get my ass on track.

How can I say I want to make a change in my life if I’m just going to make excuses? I’m tired of the pity game. I’m tired of giving up. 
I know I’ve said this before but I’m serious. I NEED to change. I can feel my body urging me to get healthy.
So I dug deep. I got it done. I’m a sweaty mess, and the last three minutes of Total Body Circuit had me crying like a baby. I had a panic attack afterwards where I felt like I was doing nothing but crying while gasping for breath, and it took me to a sad place- but then I realized I did it.

I fucking did it.

I know I’ll make a difference in my life because I WANT this. I. 

Nobody is telling me to work out, I’m not just following others this time. I’m doing it. Me.

And here’s the death matt with my sweaty chubby face to prove it.

Posted in Anxiety, Depression, Failed to Exercise, Weight Loss Journey

400lbs – Weight Loss Journey, Day 2

This morning I was awoken to a knock at my door.
Not my front door to my house, mind you, but a knock at my bedroom door. Turns out, it was my sister. This was something I hadn’t been prepared for, since it was mine and my husband’s home that we lived in, alone.

She had come in to let me know that my mother had apparently been trying to call me since 6AM, and it was 2 hours of failed calls when she sent my sister to retrieve me. My father was having chest pains and he had to leave the family business to go to the emergency room. He runs a local rubberstamp company, which handles all sorts of self inking/woodmount stamps as well as street signs, endorsement stamps and more. My mother is the front end person, and the person who handles the books, while my father is the one who makes all of the products and cuts the material into specific sizes before using a laser to engrave whatever the customer wanted.

A few months back, before I had started to delve deeper into my depression, he had started showing me the ropes and how to create and manufacture the store’s products. While he was in the emergency room, my mother needed someone else to help fulfill orders because she never learned how to do it herself. They can’t afford customers not getting orders, because this business was how they paid their rent, their livelihood.

Without thinking, or showering, I put on clothes and grabbed my old uniform, while my sister made me a cup of coffee and gave me a ride to drop me off at the store. I spent most of the day doing things my mother was unable to do- go to the bank, drop orders off at the local USPS. Then heading back to the business in an attempt to help out the best I could. When it got a little slower, I took a break to drive down south one city over in order to give my old high school two boxes of books. Our library was also unable to get the funding for more books so they reached out for donations from our community.

Once I dropped them off and got back, we got the notice that my father was apparently healthy. They said his blood had an “oxygen rate of 100%, which was uncommon for life smokers”, and said that he was in great shape, but to follow up with his primary care physician. It made my mother much calmer, but worried me a little because he is the kind of man who has cut off a finger on the saw at the family business and didn’t run to the ER because he’s simply that “tough guy” that doesn’t do that kind of thing.

By the time I had gotten home, my sister, my workout buddy, had already started getting ready to go to her night job. We decided it would be best for the both of us to be held accountable and make tomorrow a double day.

So that’s where we are at, a family health scare and a busy day- but no excuses. We will hold ourselves accountable and do our double day tomorrow.

Be wary T25, we are coming for Speed 1.0 and Total Body Circuit. We will kick its ass, and we will get healthier.

If you’re interested in buying something from my parent’s business to help keep their livelihood secure, feel free to check out what they can do at

Posted in Anxiety, Depression, Personal Accountability, Weight Loss Journey

400lb Man Does Calisthenics, T25 – Day 1 – Cardio

It starts off great.

Basically, you pop in the disc and watch as an extremely fit and attractive man smiles and talks you through the movements.

There is a woman to the right on the screen, and her name is Tanya. Tanya is your friend. Tanya does the modified version of the workout. Be like Tanya.

Initially I didn’t think I’d need Tanya’s assistance, but Sean T quickly proved me wrong as every minute went by- the workout ramped up. He called it “building the progression,” I called it “unfair and torture.” I was expecting some sort of beginners disc, or a learning the ropes easy day.

Before I knew it the movement changed and I’m learning a new set, trying to copy what Tanya is doing, and then I hear the group on the tv start cheering as Sean says “we’re going to the burnout.” Basically he takes the hardest set of each move you learned and crunches them together in quick repetition.

He was a monster. An evil, smiling monster. I quickly found solace in mimicking Tanya, sweat pouring down my face, breathing heavily, and praying to myself in repeated whispers, telling myself I could do this.

Before I knew It, we had already done 20 minutes of the workout from hell. I was apparently gasping for breath because my workout buddy was constantly reminding me to breath, and not give in to the panic that she has clearly seen upon my face.

I remember closing my eyes the last thirty seconds, pushing my body- No, willing it to move in tune with Tanya, to finish the workout strong. The second Sean called time, my sister wanted a high five. I clapped a high five, resisting the urge to throw up my morning coffee and grabbed a cup of water as she did the “cooldown” which is essentially 5 more minutes of agony.
I embraced death on my porch but apparently it didn’t hug me back, and my sister caught this photo of us:

She wants to do the next one tomorrow. All I can say is-

Fuck Sean T.

Fuck T25.

It’s hard.”

However, I’m tired of being this overweight, and I NEED to do the program in order to change.

I have to put in the work. I have to.

Posted in Anxiety, Personal Accountability, Weight Loss Journey

Starting Over, 400lbs. The beginning of my weight loss journey.

I believe I’ve found one source of my anxiety. Something that contributes to my fear of being around others and my fear of being inadequate. 

Even talking about it causes my heart to flutter with that fear filled sensation. Weight. 

I don’t mean for this to become a post bashing those who are overweight, or to out down anyone else for their body image. All of my thoughts about weight are meant to be all about me and my personal experience.

I’m unhealthy. I don’t exercise. I hate being around others. I make excuses to not leave the house out of fear. Which again, perpetuates my lack of exercising and weight gain.

I recently got on the scale and saw it read 403 pounds. That’s the weight of three people. I just can’t keep gaining weight and doing nothing about it, especially when being overweight hits my mental health on the daily.

Today marks the start of a new program. My sister and I are going to start T25. It’s a program crated by Sean T, and the best part is that I can do it in my living room. I have a workout buddy to hold me accountable, but I’m posting this here in hopes that maybebothers can help keep me motivated and accountable.
I know it’s going to be hard. I know I’m going to break down, and want to stop. I need the motivation from others to overcome my brain’s natural attempt to give up and make excuses.

My hope is that by the end of the program I’ll have started losing Weight, doing the 25 minutes of intense calisthenics workouts daily. I’ve seen the results come and the healthy change in others lives who have blasted through this program. 
I can do this, but I need to focus on one step at a time. Day by day.