I'll be out of here around four, after I pick you up I want to stop in at the furniture store.

How come?

To look for a bed.

What's wrong with our bed?

It doesn't fit us.

It's your bed. What do you mean?

It's not long enough for both of us. I think we need a bigger mattress. Maybe one of the long kings.

For the long king? (snort)

Does everything have to be perverted, Bridge?

Yes, Jacob. It really does.

When you're happy and you know it.

The world's prettiest zombie. Night of the living Bridget. A pissed-off little baby bumblebee. A totally buzzing, vibrating, half-dead, almost perpetually asleep stinging ball of total mellow. Ahahaha. Mellow peeps. New for Easter. They only come in blonde.

These are all the descriptions of me that man is flinging across the room. I'm glad someone's laughing. I'm squinting one eye shut and just trying not to plant my face in the laptop while I write. At least he made some coffee. Maybe I'll actually be awake after I finish it. Oh and the cake. He went and got a black forest cake and warmed up a piece for me. Because cake for breakfast isn't just in the movies. It's for the liquid Bridget-type aliens who took over my house. I looked in the mirror this morning and I laughed. Like a fucking maniac. The very first side effect of all these pills is the deep dark circles under my eyes. So fucking beautiful now.

My god, he really should run far far away. And take the kids with him so they get half a chance. I'm kidding. They went off with their little lunchpacks to playgroup today like they do every Wednesday. Clean, neat, color-coordinated and fiercely loved by both of us. I've got my shit together enough so that I can parent well and just fall apart on the side. It's a gift.

I'm just rattling around the house today amazed that life goes on, as it always does while I bounce from one round of knockouts to the next. There are few sure things in this life and for me we've gone well past death and taxes. The things that keep cropping up to keep us going: cake, hugs, laughter, coffee, normalcy, oxygen, love that we live on. New memories. Blessed new ones. Quick, fill me up and then the old ones will fade away forever.

Memories like cake for breakfast. Cake for the bee. Peep peep.

This is your brain on drugs. I could get used to this. oh and get this: up to six WEEKS to build up a tolerance with this. Lord. And I'm going to just let it all out so be prepared to be entertained. Or something.

Bridget the wayback machine.

I was going to write another big post but I got a link instead and I can't tear myself away.

So this post is brought to you by Nik Kershaw. Apparently I liked guys with big hair when I was 12. What's your favorite?

    near a tree by a river
    there's a hole in the ground
    where an old man of aran
    goes around and around
    and his mind is a beacon
    in the veil of the night
    for a strange kind of fashion
    there's a wrong and a right

Here.

I'm back, we're back, with some partial updates. As much as I can recall, my head is so full I may just write all goddamned day. And the internet always seems so gleefully happy when I'm at my lowest.

He came back before midnight sometime on Sunday night. I had fallen asleep on the porch swing and I woke up and Jacob was there with his head on the swing, staring at me, sitting on the floor. Watching me sleep. Stroking my hair, whispering things I never heard, again. His solace.

We didn't even say anything out loud, just kissed a long kiss good night and went to bed. Blessed sweet relief. Jake was back, we were back. Spoons. Still together, still working on getting through each hour. No promises were broken that night. He let his frustration get the better of him. It's okay. I forget he is human because he's super-human to me. A lot of people have told me when I write about him it comes out that he sounds critical and impatient. He's not. He's so loving you wouldn't believe it. He's got a very dry delivery with his offhand comments that just doesn't translate to this page.

Yesterday morning I squeezed in an emergency session with Claus (doctor/therapist who looks like Santa, remember?). We're going to start the very scary immersion/exposure therapy methods. Not for the physical fears because those Cole mostly took with him when he died. This is for the brainwashing, because I'm still pushing Jake away when the doubts creep in, I have this bizarre allegiance to Cole that isn't going away. I'm not sure why one fear would go away without the other but Claus was quick to point out that a 5-minute uncharacteristic attack is far removed from years of subliminal or forced compliance. So, no, I don't love Cole anymore. That is proof enough to me that I'm not crazy. And it's proof to Jake that we're not fighting a losing battle and that we haven't gotten this far for naught. Proof that it's also not just about us and he has to have just a little, okay a lot more patience. Cole really fucked me up and I had no idea. I got another label too, to add to my bouquet: depression. Oh joy. I expected that one first.

The concessions come in here. The medications are upped again and this time I actually have to take them. Not once in a while but every day. Three times a day. No alcohol, None. No driving. No operating stoves and power tools.

I'm going back to zombie-world, my friends.

Claus insists that half my problem is that I'm completely unmedicated and using alcohol and the fear and the unreasonableness just take over. If I can quash it with meds eventually the good feelings will stay on top and that's when I make the most progress. Suppressing the demons will suffocate them while I get a whopping dose of constant overlapping psychotherapy. Unreal. I would like to resurrect Cole and kill him again. Oh good, Bridget, use your anger! Right now I've been mostly running around completely unsupported drug-wise because I never gave the pills a chance to build up and start working. I'm so sorry. Claus thinks it's remarkable that I haven't launched myself off a high bridge. Yeah, you're not alone there. But doesn't this mean I'm doing alright? No, he said.

I'm quashing the pregnancy rumors permanently here because birth control is an absolute must with this level of medication. Not to mention I have no business trying to have a baby right now because I can barely look after Ruth and Henry, I can't look after myself at all and life is on hold and no matter how hard I try I can't ignore the fact that this really is going to take a long time to undo and fix and strengthen. It's a long long road back to healthy, says Claus, and he is right.

This morning we had our first extended couples' therapy session since our big fight in the office late last week. Which mostly feeds off the individual sessions because we're trying to work on finding patience and acceptance in all this. Continuing to hold each other up, most importantly during the hard parts, when we need each other the most. Love seems to be the easiest part of this and we're going to lean heavily on it to help strengthen the rest-the other facets of a relationship people often forget or ignore. The foundation, goddamit.

So to summarize. Jacob is not going to push me and be impatient, if he can help it. I'm going to take my pills when I'm supposed to and give up the temporary sporadic euphoria for the permanent contentment, because I want it more. We're not going to fail each other. And no more bourbon-soaked sad love song fests for Bridget. I might really miss those.


   Tell me you're not alright
    And you needed to come home
    To tell me you're not okay
    And you needed me all along
    Since you've been gone
    I need to hear from you
    Since you've been gone

He took what was left.

I can't even believe this.

After about the fourth "Are you pregnant?" call I received Sunday afternoon I finally turned off the phone. I was content to play outside with the kids in the shade and not talk to anyone else. I get so tired of talking to everyone all the time, sometimes I just need a break.

Not a good excuse. Jake came home early. He was concerned because my phone was off. I explained that I needed a break and he pushed me. He said he was trying to make life easier and what did I need? I said I needed time. Because this was a rough trip to hell and back and I really need to catch my breath. I said I needed to figure out that Cole was dead in my heart, or I wouldn't get past this moment.

Oh, that was not the right thing to say.

Jake asked me what I meant, and where my confidence went. I spat back that maybe I still loved Cole, and life was vastly different than it ever was in April when I thought Cole and I had settled into an acceptable level of closeness. We were doing sort of almost okay. Not healthy by any means, but okay.I know it was my denial but it was livable. And Cole worked every day, all day, far into most nights, I had all the time in the world to charm Jacob and hang out and be the centre of attention, the life of the party. My ego was the size of Jacob's beautiful heart.

What the hell am I now, huh, Jake?

The preacher's girlfriend, the poor widow. She got her hand slapped hard. She sold her soul to the devil and paid a price so high she's still not fully one hundred percent sure she can cover that bill. There is no ego left to be had here. Sorry but once I finish reeling from the blows then maybe I can find the girl who used to live here. She's around here somewhere.

I got all this fucking baggage out there and I think he heard one thing.

I. still. love. Cole.

Oh, ouch. Jake slammed his fist down on the table and scowled. I jumped a thousand feet into the air and screamed at him to never do that again. He got up and came around the table and he put his hand down to my face and ran his fingers down my cheek and then he got on his knees and put his head in my lap. He held my knees and didn't move but I could feel him shaking so hard. Finally he looked up and his eyes were so red. He shook his head and told me I might be thinking this is all a big mistake or a dream or hell (he choked on that word, I think that's what he said) but for him it's worth every difficult moment and if we've gone through all this and we're not closer and I'm still clinging to the wrong guy then he doesn't know where to go from here.

Then he told me when I had an answer to let him know. And that he was going to step away now and let me stand on my own two feet so that I could make this decision on my own.

I shook my head. I think I was in a full-blown panic but all I remember is trying to keep a death grip on his hand so he wouldn't go. I remember yelling at him that he made me a promise and he couldn't walk out now. Oh, he did. He walked out backwards, tears and bitterness staining his face and he told me that his promise stands, and when I'm done loving the monster then maybe I would give the good guy a real chance at last.

He did it knowing full well I still had to get through the rest of the afternoon and evening alone with the kids. So even though I wanted to cave into newfound grief and fall apart I couldn't and he knew that and he used it.

I want to hate him and I can't.

Now it's 10 pm and I'm stubborn and so afraid all at the same time. He left 8 hours ago. I don't want to call him but I don't know where he is. What if his phone is off? What if he was just tired of all this and changed his mind? What if he doesn't come back?

What if I am pregnant?

No, I can't be, I felt so much better today. Well, I did. Now I just feel sick. And I'm stuck like this. I can't drink, I can't fall apart because there's no one here to take over. I don't want to call any friends after blowing most of them off today already. I'm humiliated and I'm scared and I'm sick to death with worry. There was one person in this entire world that I could open my soul to, tell every last secret to, and depend on to catch me when I fell, one person that I love without question or hesitation and I don't know what to do right this minute because I don't think I've ever been in this position before.

I don't want to be alone.

Heatstroke barbie, or, I was wrong.

Jacob read my post from last night and would prefer me to clarify his doll comment because he says it makes him look like a jerk. I thought it made him sound like a jerk at the time he said it last night, frankly, but my mood issues were explained later.

What he meant when he said I looked like a doll was that I looked perfect. I wasn't withered from the oppressive heat, like everyone else. He thought that was strange. I wasn't sweating. I was uncharacteristically cranky too.

I didn't sweat at all, well not enough to cool off. Which meant our evening out was cut short because he again noticed that my skin was far too cool for last night's heat and suggested we duck out for water. We went outside and I was so weak I couldn't open the cap on the water bottle so we quickly drove home.

Where I promptly threw up.

So much for that perfect doll image.

Dolls do not vomit. And they don't get heat exhaustion.

And no, for crying out loud I am not pregnant. Half the wedding guests think I could be. Isn't that fun? Yes, I think so too.

I'm sufficiently better this morning. Jacob wants me to stay home and rest instead of going with him to church but that will most likely just add fuel to the blazing rumors so I think I'm going to go. With lots of water to sip.

Then I will spend the rest of the day indoors. Where it's cool.

I really thought he didn't like my dress.

Wedding barbie.

Huh.

I'm killing time waiting for the kids to eat and for Jacob to get ready since we leave in an hour for a wedding. I curled my hair and pinned it back and used my new Maybelline XXL mascara (which is insane, I can't say enough) and my candy pink lipgloss, and I have a cute pink fluffy little dress on, and my pink fuck-me shoes (that would be the 4 inch stilettos), because otherwise Jake gets a crick in his neck if we dance at all.

I was feeling pretty cute until Jacob walked past me and did a double take and said Christ, Bridge, you look like a doll.

I briefly debated switching to black high heels and a black dress but then I figured he might tell me I looked like a whore.

Yeah, it's really hot tonight and we're getting along smashingly.

Sweet to taste.

So I don't forget it for Tuesday:

To our therapist, who thinks I shouldn't try to draw power from my sexuality: Say nothing until you have witnessed the most erotic lap dance/striptease ever performed. Because someone (name starts with J) left the Hysteria album on, and Pour Some Sugar on Me came on, and I couldn't resist. The only thing missing was strobe lights.

He remained inarticulate for the next few hours. It's okay though, we weren't doing much talking. And he has a new healthy respect for me. And my strange and wonderful talents. I burned the chicken but I give a nice lap dance. Hey, the perfect girlfriend.

The human rubber band.

Friday always brings a second post, if you didn't know that then welcome and enjoy. Friday is a giant mood ring for me. I start off black and by sometime around three o'clock my mood ring displays the most beautiful shade of blue you will ever witness with your bare naked eyeballs.

I wonder how many hits 'Naked Saltwater Princess' will bring to this doorstep via Google over the coming weekend.

Jake says if every day was as bad as I painted it here we'd all be sipping belladonna and navigating a slow death a hundred times over. Do I do that? I don't mean to do that, but this is how it plays out in my head. I'm not an effortless optimistic, by any stretch of your imagination.

So here's a very upbeat! new! development! because there is nowhere to go but up. Right?

Jacob has cancelled my birthday trip.

And it's okay. Well, we were going to cancel it anyway. I have no intentions of taking my kids overseas while Israel and Pakistan Lebanon (Thank you Potor) are at war. And then Cole finalized our plans by not changing his will. Which means I need to take his ashes home to Nova Scotia. To top it off there are only so many vacation days you can take as a minister each year, so while we're home we'll spend time with both families-Jacob's parents live in Newfoundland, and call it the summer vacation.

I'm looking forward to it. Neither one of us have been home in years. Hopefully it will all go smoothly. Optimistically speaking.

Wait. I make him laugh, dammit!

This morning I exchanged the intoxicating freedom of the open highway where I swear I was seventeen all over again for the crushing personal roadblocks and congestion of couple's therapy, from which I emerged into the blinding sunlight choking back sobs and trying to uselessly force my way out of Jacob's strong arms, having just been yanked back weeks progress-wise. Our time even ran over and yet we weren't on speaking terms with each other when we left, despite the desperate measures we (okay, they) took to try to sort it out while we were still there. Because Jacob is fed up and because I am in pain.

I am 'emotionally immature' (I want to write 'duh' here but that would just confirm it). And when I was pointedly called upon to define myself under that label I straightaway looked to Jake to FIX IT BECAUSE THAT ISN'T FAIR. And the counselor pounces again and asks me what Jake is going to be able to do for that, since he is part of the problem.

Jake? Well, he studied the floor like it was going to magically scroll the answers across the tiles beneath his shoes.

In trying to help me develop tools to stand on my own two feet in this relationship (translation; grow the fuck up) instead of being so goddamned submissive when it comes to men, specifically the ones I love, all of my flaws are exposed to the light, then they have verbal acid thrown on them and then they're kicked to the curb to be repeatedly run over.

Jake is asked to list some of the things he brings to our relationship. Easy. He DOES THIS FOR A LIVING, people. He rattles off so many concrete examples. Flawless. Bravo. I am lucky. A million times over. I love how he never has to point out his fears like I do in these sessions.

What do I bring?

Ha. Um. The kids, okay, yeah, Ruth and Henry. Um. Ah. Optimism that the future will be better than the past. Oh and I can totally get my way with sexual favors.

Bridget do you feel that your power comes through sex?
Aw geez, you people are harsh. Inside my head the wild girl is screaming with laughter. Of course it does, watch as I seduce any man I want without having to speak a single word. Idiots!

Outwardly:

Well, no, it shouldn't, but..

Do you think this is healthy?
Oh now here comes the belligerence. Such a fucking brat.

Yes, actually I think a healthy sex life is very important in a relationship.

Healthy if you're using it as a means to an end instead of just as recreational intimacy?

Well, that's why we're here now, isn't it? Because I don't have any other obvious bargaining chips.

Jake laughed. At the very worst time ever. Which turned out to be good, because the therapist got to witness us argue briefly, to see both Jacob's total faultlessness and my purposeless, misunderstood, automatic compliance, as I deferred to him. As usual.

Bridget, why do you do that?

What?

Drop the argument and yield to Jacob?
I didn't even hear myself whisper it. So he doesn't leave me.

Therapy was stopped then, and it was decided that we were going to step up the frequency of the sessions because when they tell me I'm doing well they lie. It's a verbal pat on the head because I didn't fire anyone that session, or something. When they say I'm doing well I take it to mean that I'm almost normal again. Which colors me as an optimist, because when they say I'm doing well, what they really mean is that I'm progressing normally for a totally fucked up girl. Textbook.

And because pressing myself against the inside of the truck door isn't very comfortable I sit like a robot beside Jake on the drive home. Wait for it, wait for it...here we go.

Why can't you believe that I'm not leaving you?

Because trust takes time.

Oh, and you can't trust me? After all this time?

I can't trust anyone, Jake.

Then why did you say you could before? What changed?

Nothing, I just decided telling you what you want to hear isn't going to make this feeling go away.

What feeling?

The fear that this is all a dream and you're not real. That you'll leave. People say things they don't mean every single day, Jacob.

Well, I don't. I'm real. You are not sometimes. Bridget, when I touch you I feel like I'm in heaven and it's not real. You're too good to be true. When I go to sleep at night I pray that I won't wake up in the morning and find you've changed your mind. That you don't really want me, because you're too beautiful and I'm just a servant. That you'll find some great new guy who will take you out of this godforsaken place for good and give you everything, with none of the bad memories we have in our past.

I'm never leaving you. Ever.

Okay then I need another promise. Promise me you'll never stop making me laugh like you did today. Because I knew exactly what was going through your pretty little head even as you said something completely different. You're impossible. I couldn't help laughing out loud.

My purse bounced harmlessless off his head and we almost went off the road laughing. He is better therapy than the professionals that cost us money.