And when she was bad she was horrid.

And when she was bad she was horrid

    You slid away from me
    Crept away from me
    I tried to keep you down
    And there was nothing I could say.
    So what you're trying to say
    is you don't wanna play.
    But what you want and what you need
    doesn't mean that much to me.

It lurks in the dark and comes out to strip us of our thick skins and contented hearts just when we need them the most. The allowance made for the depression to hang around, even with all the pinching going on around here.

The issues with our sex life remain. I wrote about it back in June, and little has changed. You'll never meet a more dedicated couple in love bound to self-destruct over issues that scream of a history together that's too long. It went on too damned long.

See? Aargh. I can't even figure out how to explain it without exposing myself, us to everyone in a terribly invasive way. Worse that I usually do. Surprise!

Loch's prediction of Very Good Things to come when Bridget recovered from the onslaught of Very Bad Things that took place was ignorant of one of the biggest points of note. Jake and I did sleep together once before, although oh so briefly back in 2000. He's had me with far less baggage than I carry now. He knows what it can be like. He knows and he wants that. He wants it now.

But it isn't like that anymore and he's feeling ripped off, frustrated, impatient. And it shows in everything he does. He's tense. Not with me, with everything else. He'll blame the whole world while he stands there and refuses to blame me for the way I am.

Nights are bad. In the morning when I have no control and I'm hardly awake, it works, somehow. It's much easier to write about.

At night with me, Jacob has taken to doing whatever he can to get me to shut up, help me relax, stop fighting him, and stop asking him to do things that he will not do. Ever. And in my head and my heart I know none of this is fair and I wouldn't dream of throwing it in his face but then in the heat of the moment everything changes and Bridget turns into some sort of little sex maniac. His words, not mine. He has called me challenging, combative (when feeling generous) and fucking messed up (when not).

So when I write about him holding me down or pushing me down, it isn't the same as it used to be. He's doing it to make me stop. Stop trying to do things he doesn't want me to do. To stop me from being a freak.

When I'm so excited I cannot breathe I ask him for things that I wouldn't ask for any other time. It happens. It flies out and I can't put it back in fast enough. He loses his desire for me when I do this and I know that. Well, maybe not, he's perpetually into me. It doesn't matter if it's quiet or if it's loud, with music or without, following a lapdance or a round of stoli or a mug of hot chocolate. Everything. Nothing. It works up to a point. Everything works up to a point and hell, more than once I have begged him to use me in some sick fashion and Jacob got up and left the room, punching the doorframe on the way out. But then he is back moments later, trying to bundle me into his warm, strong arms, kissing my eyelashes, my ears, my mouth, my skin all over because in spite of this bitter pain he still wants me all of the time. Like an addiction to something you are certain will kill you.

I can't even figure him out. He's fighting me, fighting himself. Unable to resist even when he seems to hate us both for our actions and reactions. And me? I'm fighting history, a way of life I've been accustomed to for so long I can't figure out any other way short of becoming a doll, without moving or speaking, and honestly?

What sort of fun would that be?

I may be fucked up but I don't want to be a dead fuck. Because please. Life is too short for bad sex. Even fucked up crazy painful (emotionally) miserable fighting-through-it sex is better than just Bridget lying there and taking it.

Or so I've been taught.

Yes, that's a supremely painful admission too. Or is it shameful? Jacob will tell you different. He would take me unconscious. I swear it. So has very little actually changed for me?

And Jacob would have you believe that everything, that his life with Bridget is perfect. And it would be except that he refuses still to venture to new far away places in the dark. Those same dark places that I am somehow refusing to crawl out of, thereby making his life equally imperfect. Not in some misguided attempt to remain the tiny little bad girl that I want to be but because the dark is a familiar comfort and sometimes, as I have said before, I liked it. Some of it. Jacob doesn't have to follow in Cole's footsteps nor does he need to reflect the terrible level of depravity that Cole had reached with me, but there's a limit I have that I like to push regularly and I want Jake to meet me in the middle.

I'm not a bread and butter girl, there is nothing pedestrian about sleeping with Bridget and as intriguing as it once was to Jacob, now it's an embarrassment that he wishes would just go away. He likes his lap dances and he likes me riding his lap or spread out on the table or the floor and dipped in something sweet but everything else is completely off limits. With no room to negotiate.

Off limits would be fine for most people but when you've done it all there's pretty much a list of things you enjoyed to some extent and I'd like Jacob to take me to those places. Because with him it would be a million times better, a million times greater. Oh my God, I cannot fathom the highs that those experiences would achieve with him. It would be fun and not scary with Jake.

And he won't and I feel like a goddamn freak some nights. Like last night when he propped himself onto his elbows and clamped his hands over my ears and told me just to focus on his face and not think, just focus and take it. And he fucked me for a long while and everything was good and okay and wonderful then.

I would do anything for him, because it's Jake.

He proclaims me still completely fucked up. He's right. I am. I know all this.

And still I fight for something that was never mine, and we both fight for something that is still just out of reach, for now.

I just hope we get there. Because after all this time it hurts. It hurts to know that the most intimate part of our love is a confirmed disaster. Any progress here is going to be hard-won and it's own reward.

Why can't I fix this?

And when she was good, she was very very good.

A wee bit of dirt, or an ode to Jacob and his morning wood.

One plus of the waking up before 6 am habit is that when I start or move even slightly Jacob will invariably wake up too, sensing that I am awake even though he can't open his eyes just quite yet. He'll usually shorten whatever space he finds between us, if there is any left at all, and he'll grab me and pull me in until my back touches his abs, his warm hand spread out across my belly. He pulls my thigh down hard into his lap with one hand while his other hand presses my head hard into the bed. Then he pushes himself into me, not slowly, but with force, because he wants me so badly when he wakes up in the morning. He's much rougher at daybreak then he is at night. At night he's so slow and gentle and has so much patience. He'll wait forever, he'll say he wants to fuck me forever, and he has hours to try things and to wind me out on his whims. In the mornings he has no patience, he doesn't want to wait, he just turns me over and then he's inside me and I'm grabbing for the blanket or the bedpost just to hold on. He doesn't want to talk or kiss or cuddle, he only whispers things I can't hear and takes what he needs.

Speak to me/Breathe.

    Breathe, breathe in the air
    don't be afraid to care
    leave but don't leave me
    look around, choose your own ground
    for long you live and high you fly
    and smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
    and all you touch and all you see
    is all your life will ever be

(Pink Floyd or Phish, who covered it well, your choice, it's what's for my audible breakfast this morning.)

So am I capable of seeing anything at all?

You bet I am.

I can't believe my car is an issue even. It's my car. What's the big deal?

Perceptions and reasoning aren't always the same thing are they? But no one asked me for the reasons, instead they created their own. This is what happens when you allow everyone input on your life. When you go and make a decision without a group vote the shit hits the fan. We're still cleaning that shit off of every surface imaginable.

My car was getting very little use. Very very little and even less now with the snow. It's a coupe, it's not something you want to be out in unless the weather is beautiful. It's winter 5 months of the year here. And I'm fucking medicated, I can't drive. Jacob can't drive it, he's too tall. And the insurance rates on it are through the roof.

Not to mention, it's the most extravagant gift Cole ever gave me. It's black. My badass little car. He led me out into the driveway with his hand over my eyes and there she was with a big white bow on her roof. A toy car for my toy girl, he said. I only ever put 11000 kilometers on her and I had her almost two years.

She was procured by a man who will probably use her to fuel his own life crisis and celebrate his upcoming divorce. Which is fine. It really wasn't much of a family car. And with Jake staring down car payments for the first time in his life we need something a little more practical. His truck is on life support and so he's going to get a new one. A very large one but I've been assured I'll be able to drive it when I end this permanent sanctioned high I'm on because it won't have a broken seat adjuster track like his old truck did. I'll be able to reach the pedals.

Besides, fast cars aren't my thing. Everyone thought my car was the Coolest Car Ever. I lent it out for special occasions. Sometimes I lent it out just for fun. It was a fun present but it sits in the garage and reminds me of when Cole was not angry. Destructive memories. It had to go.

The guys mostly blame Jake, refusing to see the logic involved and I'm not impressed by that. Ben's direct comments, agreed on by others were that Jacob was removing my own personal mode of transportation so that I would be completely dependent on him and he would have total control over where I went and who I went with. Which ties in nicely to the whole drug her up and keep her home scenario they're expounding on right this minute, because my ears are still burning up hot.

Added fuel to the fire would be bringing in reinforcements (Loch), Jacob canceling Caleb's impending visit indefinitely and basically my whole spoken need to just step back and let Jacob run The Bridget Show because hell, I'm safer that way. Physically and emotionally. Do they need a map to show the path that led to this? I'm not being coerced, I'm being smart. I've elevated my attempts at self-preservation to a whole new high and hopefully this time it will hold.

All I know is that I have had a lot of sleep and a lot of talk and I feel almost human again, confident in my big decisions right now. Jacob made love to me gently last night and then ferociously this morning and confirmed that I'm not a zombie (yet) judging by all the shushing he had to whisper because Loch was staying downstairs.

I don't regret getting rid of the car. That's 3000 pounds of baggage off my mind right there. Go Bridget.

Perspective.

I'm not feeling so lucid this afternoon and I crashed down into a chair at the table.

He bent down and kissed my nose and then he got down on his knees and we were eye to eye.

Do you love me, princess?

Of course I love you, Jake. More than anything.

Do you know how much I love you?

Yes, but tell me again.

I love you. Forever and then a little more and I will never ever stop, no matter what.
And that's enough. It's more than enough. It's everything I will ever need in this life.

And then there were four.

Let's expose the devil and his many advocates, just for one bare brief moment.

Let's say Bridget is pressured. Get better. Do it fast, do it now. Play pretend-normal. Life goes on. Take the pills, finish them up. Come on, girl! Leave therapy behind. Make your friends pick sides while they figure out what the fuck to do with your former domineering husband dead and your new husband one of them, formerly less sweet as he tried to usurp Cole. Watch as they get into actual grownup fist-fights over you, over nothing at all. Refuse to talk to most of them. Fight off older brother of dead husband repeatedly (because, the headgames he has played with me for DECADES). Sell cute little sportscar against wishes of people who don't have a say in that kind of thing. Make a few passing references to not being in charge willingly and lead everyone to call your new marriage some sort of sugar-coated incestuous power trip for someone but not for you (that was rich).

Have two treasured trusted friends who remain who will relay these awful character-destroying conversations and letters so that I can see exactly what is black and what is white. Boy was I surprised.

Oops, I almost forgot the whole keep Bridget heavily medicated and unreachable because that makes it easier to control her over all, no?

How am I doing?

Ben, Caleb, Robin. Mark...I don't even understand anymore. I didn't realize when I stopped being the x-rated entertainment that I would become their comic relief. Fodder for their own insecurities. I didn't ask for any of this.

Loch, PJ, Chris and Jake are it now.

Unwritten.

Hey. Good morning. Rest assured, I'm not having a nervous breakdown. I haven't written about much of the latest news at all, looking back because I was hoping it would all magically disappear. I feel like I'm losing what few friends I have left and they may have all been fucked up and had their own hidden agendas but is that better than having no friends left at all or not?

I can't decide. But what people don't understand is that they ARE my family here.

(I'm not saying my friends are causing my problems, let's just say they're heaping it on thick and I'm not strong to start with. So maybe I am saying this is their fault. I have no idea.)

But what was decided for me is that it was too soon to stop talking about everything, it was too soon to stop taking pills, it was too soon to stay up late, to skip meals and to fight with people. It was too soon for me to try to pretend that everything was fine and dandy and it came back and bit me in the ass. I'm not in control anymore because it's better if you just lead Bridget by the hand. She'll come, she's just going to need a very soft touch for a bit.

But I am still spoiled. Jake brought a tray with coffee and toast and my laptop upstairs and I can read and sleep and browse the internet and write if I want to or not and he's going to take the kids to school. They came in to kiss me goodbye and I told them I was feeling really tired and I didn't want to get really sick again.

And surprisingly I don't feel like I'm going to shatter today.

But I'm not allowed to answer the phone either, so your mileage may vary.

Here. Finally.

Jacob found a sitter for Henry this afternoon as soon as I opened my mouth.

Then he put my coat on me and took me out to the truck and put my seatbelt on me, like a child. He didn't say anything. When we parked, he took me by the hand and brought me inside, then again, took my coat off me and steered me by the shoulders straight into the office, no waiting, no bullshit. He said he wasn't going to take any chances, I brought up the very worst day of his life and he refuses to let me be in this kind of pain without doing everything he can to fix me. With help. With a whole team. He has connections, I had no idea. I came away with a plan, I came away knowing all of the factors which contributed to today's abrupt and frightening turn and I came away with more pills. Very strong happy pills. Which Jacob held up in front of me and he forced my chin up until my eyes were two inches from the bottle and he said, quite simply:

These you're going to take. Every single day. Because they keep me from being scared. I know you won't do it for you, so you're going to do it for us.

My teeth were chattering from shock because his voice was ragged from fear. From exhaustion. Because again I pushed myself, us and I was beyond overtired and hungry and slightly shaken by a lot of things lately and dealing with my usual depleted emotional strength and we both missed it in our joy of normal life at last. Or whatever that brief respite was.

My team (ha, that's funny) says a little backsliding is normal (ha)with new stresses and changes in a recent trauma victim and someone battling chemical imbalances as it is. They say it will get better but not for a long time. They say I need to not pretend things are great when they're not. They say that I must not push myself. That I need sleep, food, and medication. They also say I'm not to be left alone again for a while because the straight-laced logical part of me still refuses to say things that will make everyone comfortable. I told Jacob I was sorry and I told him that I love him and I'm not leaving without him but everyone else can go to hell. He laughed and said they sure could and he expects the promise to be made when we catch our breath.

I'm doing my best here. And I'm sorry for scaring everyone. Hell, I scared myself and I called out to him for help. I'm learning, guys.

Loch is coming for the weekend, bless his heart, since Jake has to work a bit, and I'll have all kinds of good influences present.

When we got home I was led into the house and my coat was taken off and then I was enveloped in the longest, hardest hug I have ever had, followed by Jacob pressing his lips against my forehead in a kiss that steamed up my eyelids. My god that felt so fucking good.

Because for once, he was here right when he needed to be.

He was here.

Jake.

Slide. rule.

Right. Downhill all the way now. I shouldn't be trying to write and so I stopped. Again.

In behind the front, the flippant, confident inventor of so many silly similes and poetic waxer of cake, lies me. Just Bridget, flaky girl of extremes and irreparably messed up in the head. Coexisting with my own inner monster is sometimes a real fucking bitch.

Nothing changes with that. I started with it. It's still here.

Jacob may care a whole lot more. He's epic in his own right and I'm the luckiest person in the world. But he asks for a promise I can't make still.

(this is where you can go and search my journal for eggshells or unspoken history and you'll see what I mean, I'm not reading that again.)

Bridget. I need you to give me that. I need to know.
I shook my head. I'm not going to make a promise I'm never sure I'll keep. That would be foolish. I can't lie to him.

Tread carefully, Jakey. And I love you even if sometimes I lie and say I don't just to protect you from me.

It must be hard to live with me. I find it easy because if it gets too hard, then I don't have to do it anymore at all. I thought that maybe since it got so hard already that he wouldn't be so afraid but I was wrong.

And still, I shook my head because I can't make it.

He told me he was going to get help for me because this isn't how I'm supposed to be. I hope he keeps his promise because I'm afraid of myself today. I hate this.

Tears and mortar.

I think this house is causing problems.

It's a beautiful house.

Cole only lived here for exactly eight months and yet it's just full of him, with none of his things left, save for what the kids have. His visage, his imprint is somehow still here, hell, I don't know if it's the house. Maybe it's me. Why wouldn't he had an imprint on me just like his handprint was on me for so long. It was twenty years. It's been five months since he died and that's all. That's nothing. It was just in March when we stopped trying at all. No, I stopped trying. He continued on his self-destructive path without me. March was not so long ago and now even with so many changes and upsets and therapies, it's fresh and it hurts like so much hell.

I'm not sure if we're moving or simply disintegrating.

Once he was feeling generous or sad, I'm not sure which. It was one of the few more recent times when I was being cold, he hated that. I wasn't letting him into my brain or under my skin and perhaps he had a moment of regret, a twinge of a wish. I have no idea. He looked at me and he told me that if anything ever happened to him, to ask Jake for help with anything I needed. That Jacob was a good man and he would look after us and he had been around so long, so many years, that Cole knew he would hold true to his convictions.

I know.

No, seriously, Bridge, he's been there. Ask him for help, no one else.

Are you dying, Cole?

Everyone is going to die someday, baby.

Not you.

Even me.

I'll go first.

That's not even funny today, princess.

It's not supposed to be.

Just promise me.

Done.

Should I expect to be poisoned slowly now?

You should have suspected that all along.

He laughed softly and just looked at me for a moment like he had all the regret in the world. I'm left now wondering if he knew his heart was going to explode or if he sensed something. If he did he either told no one or no one is going to give up his secrets and I'll wonder this as long as I live. Or I could call it simple fate, or God's Big Rescue Plan for me with the help of his favorite wayward angel. I don't know. All I know is that it was times like that one that make me hate his memory less.

An excuse to make excuses.

Hey.

Hi, Bridget.

Caleb. Hi.

Please don't be impressed on my account.

Oh, I'm not, trust me.

Can I just explain? Please?

I don't think any of it matters, Caleb.

I would like a chance to defend my character. Now, don't say anything. I'll be in town before the weekend for a meeting and I'd like to stop by and drop off some Christmas presents for the kids and say hello to you anyway if that's okay. I promise you'll understand when I explain why I contacted Ben. Please, Bridget, just trust me.

Fine, just please try to call before you come over.

I'll do my best. Thanks, Bridge. Look, it's been a while and I...

Don't. Please.

Oh, I can't WAIT to hear his excuses.