skeletons in my closet...BOO!

So the worst possible person to find me on FB found me today.

He is an ex that was very manipulative and talked me into buying a house for us to live in. Granted, it was one of those bad loans that crashed the market last year, (it was fraudulently funded) but he had the power to talk me into it. (I was weak enough to give him that power) Anyway, I bought a house that the appraiser had over appraised (He put it at 155, it was really only 90, and had completely illegal wiring so it wasn't even livable.) I was having a really bad winter, and so I had to quit my job, and like 2 months later this jackass says "See ya!"

I don't believe in god. Never really have. Faith really gets me. It fascinates me that there are people that have faith in something they can't see. That they base their entire lives around that faith. I have real respect for them, because their faith gives them strength, joy, and a set of principles in which they live their lives. I can't quite believe in it for myself, but I was raised LDS, so I know a thing or two about Mormonism. I have some great friends that are Mormon and I have always seen how it gives my parents strength. And so I believe them when they say that they are truly happy following God's plan.

After he left that night, I tried to kill myself. I swore that I would not be one of those pathetic people that failed. I found a website for people with terminal illnesses that wanted to end the pain. I just happened to have had a certain bottle of drugs that when mixed with enough alcohol would end my life in a matter of hours. (my doctor had prescribed them to me for my bad cramps, but they didn't work, so I still had most of the bottle left.) Just to be sure, I also put a bag over my head.

I woke up the next morning anyway.

I went into rehab, and I was there for a week or so before they stopped giving me my anxiety meds. One evening, as the pill lady came around and I noticed that that green pill was missing, I threw a fit. I started to panic. I demanded that pill. They ignored me. I stomped around. I called my family, begging them to bring me my meds that I NEEDED. They hung up on me or just didn't answer. I stomped around some more. Nobody paid any attention to me. I laid in my hospital bed and cried and felt sorry for myself. "This isn't fair!" "I have a REAL medical condition!" and so on. Pretty soon, I had no tears left. I started to calm down. Then I asked myself a question that had been in the back of my mind ever since that fateful night, but I was too busy acting like a brat to let it surface.

"Why am I still here?"

Wait a minute! I had a foolproof plan! I should be dead, not lying here in misery! What the hell? Then I had the biggest shock of my life run through me. (I had completed step one at that point in my recovery, which is: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.) But I was having trouble with the second and third steps. (2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. And 3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.) God? I didn't believe in God. I was a little bit scared now, realizing that obviously a power greater than myself had kept me alive, despite my very best efforts. Then I did what my counselor had been telling me to do from day one. I got out of bed, and I got on my knees. And I prayed for the first time since I was a child, (when I would pray for things like a new box of crayons.) The fact that I was alive, and that there was no other way that I was alive other than something had stopped me, I then had the proof I needed to believe in something bigger than myself. Not God, but I call it that because I have no other name to call it.

"Okay, you got me. I give up. I'll do whatever it takes."

I had officially started my recovery. I learned a lot in rehab. I learned that I can only be happy if I make myself happy. It's MY responsibility, nobody Else's. That was the key for me. That and the fact that all the terrible and hurtful things that had been happening to me over that past 8 years were my fault. I was not some poor, pathetic person that kept having bad things done TO her, I was a selfish person that put myself in hurtful relationships, and blamed everyone around me for my misery. Andrew did quite a number on me, and so some of it was his fault, but he was more like the magnifying glass on my alcoholism than the cause. My counsellor Wendy asked me one day, "How long do you want to be miserable for? Because you are only miserable for as long as you let yourself be. YOU have the power to make yourself happy."

4 years, 3 months, and 12 days later, I sit here in my quiet house, where I live with my amazing husband, and I can't be thankful enough for my second chance.

And I can't be more horrified that he found me. That is the only reason I NEVER wanted to join FB. He sent me a message saying he was "truly sorry" and that he has "dreams about me" and he hopes that I am happy. I felt violated. I wanted to delete my profile and change my locks and slip away into the night with Danny and the cats, so that he could never find me again. And then I thought about it. I never got closure with him. He simply walked away, and I had to clean up both of our messes. I have not had a chance to "recover" completely from our breakup.

So I sent him a message. Straight from my scorned and broken heart. I was mean, very mean. But I was honest. And the truth hurts, when you're a bastard. I figure that if he seriously is apologizing to me, he should really know what happened. He will never know what I went through, living minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.

Yes, I was on that road anyway. I do take responsibility for my part in my own undoing. But you know when you get screwed over, and being blatantly honest to the person that wronged you most always make you feel better, and makes it easier to let go and move on? It was over 4 years ago. I have been carrying this around for far too long. And he opened the damn door. Right?

I owed it to myself and to my husband to take the chance to let this go. I think I may have to cry for a few hours to finally purge myself of this burden, but I think it won't be a burden anymore once I am done. Thinking of all of this again just hurts, but I also have to look at where I am today. Am I at a bar right now with some scumbag? No. I have a husband that loves me. Loves ALL of me. Even these parts that hurt so much right now.

I love SO much that I have no secrets with him. I really wanted to leave a few things out when I told him about my sordid past, on our 4th or 5th date. But as I talked, he just listened. And when I was done, and I was sure he would kick me to the curb, (and I wouldn't of blamed him) I asked "So, um, do you totally hate me now?" And he said "Of course not! Jessica, you aren't that person anymore." He hardly knew me, yet he saw in me what I had been trying so hard to do- change my behavior. Until that moment, I hadn't fully believed that I had done it. I tried really hard, and wanted it so badly, but self doubt is a bitch. Danny truly is a miracle in my life. I am so blessed to have him.

So now you know way too much about me. Sorry if I freaked any of you out.

All there is left to do now is "Let go, and let God."