Hey! There's no update today. I have a new laptop and as soon as I get everything installed and as perfect as I like it I'll write something useful. Until then, no worries.

Cooooool.

Waiting for my tea to steep.

Someone please find Ben something to do before Jacob murders him. I wrote I was home, he got on a plane and came back. If he thinks he's coming over he'll be in for a surprise.

I give up. These guys must have billions of aeroplan miles by now. And a hell of a lot of nerve.

In other news? Bailey cleared out the moment I got in, so we could have our privacy and to get back to her own family, and Erin leaves at eight tonight and may or may not help boot Ben out of the province again.

And Jacob?

Quit his brand new job on Tuesday and just told me this afternoon. People wonder why I can never catch my breath. But it's okay. I asked him to on a whim. I never thought he'd actually do it.

Sympathy for the devil.

The rumors can stand. Guess whatever you want, imagine whatever you can. I can't possibly address everything so I'll just continue with what I need to get out here.

If you were feeling sorry for me, don't. I've been running around with my emotions fully out of control for almost two years at this point.

Don't feel sorry for me for being put on a private plane and sent to a lovely private center staffed with some of the best doctors in the world, a five-star menu and thousand thread count sheets. I never claimed not to have friends in high places and I never said they didn't enjoy using their ungodly wealth to help me, though I have paid the price for it already.

That's a long story for some quiet day when I feel like making you fall off your chair.

In any case, the fact that I was there and Jacob and the kids were here means that one large part of the changes to take place starts tomorrow. Family therapy.

To help my family deal with me.

Under a whole new diagnosis. One that fits like a glove. The others never seemed to. I was told it takes a long time to get to this point.

So that Jacob can withstand me. So that he and Ruth and Henry won't be damaged by this. As if.

I didn't help myself and I didn't get enough help and I realized late last week that oh, I needed way more help because I love Jacob and I don't want to fuck this up. He's not the kind of man to put up with someone who won't help themselves and yet he understands that this was serious and unchecked and I couldn't get where I needed to be and he's done more than admit to exploiting me too (sexually, no less. Jacob.) and he's got some issues to deal with and he needs as many tools as I do, to learn to live with Bridget.

Because the best advice out there if you're married to someone like me?

Is to run.

Far far away from them, and don't look back.

That makes me want to bury myself in a hole forever. A destroyer of souls has no place with an angel like Jacob.

But Jacob shook his head. And he choked right up and told me he's my unconditional man and that he will love me forever. Even after everything I have put him through or may put him through in the future.

It's like my hearing but emotional. I have to work so hard and I miss things anyway.

I signed over control of all of my money. All of it this time. I put all the power in Jacob's lap again and he's in control now and I'm so much happier. And there's more changes to speak of but today is only one day.

When I'm done rambling you'll be the first to know but every time I feel it start I remember his voice whispering to me.

Unconditional, Bridget.

It's my new favorite word.

We'll be okay. The road just got longer, the broken glass is spread over it seemingly endlessly. The work will be difficult. We'll do it. And here's the point in the choose your own adventure novel where you can decide if you want to come with us or stop reading and find someone less difficult to enjoy.

Because, oh boy. We all knew I was pretty messed up but who the hell knew it was this fucking spectacularly bad?

Post haste. Welcome back, little Bee.

    I won't live your way
    Won't hear what you say.
You know, five days away to get my head on straight and indulge in three differently wonderful kinds of therapy isn't always a bad thing. Getting a better handle on my emotions won't be a bad thing, and us flinging the usual fed-up ultimatums at each other tends to be the best catalyst in the world to make me move.

Because Nothing in the world could fail me now. It's tattooed on my skin. It means something to me.

I'm wonderfully fixable. Eventually.

In the meantime, don't believe a word I say, and for gosh sake's don't be surprised at my largely inappropriate behavior. Those of you long ago who sent me long letters telling me I was a certain way, well, let's just say I'm a little freaked out that the internet had me pegged long before the professionals who were close but not close enough.

More later, I'm a little hesitant today. Even though I need to get a lot of these words out, it's going to take a little bit. It's going to take even longer to get through these emails. How many of you are there? I am floored. Thank you.

I need some Jacob time now. I haven't seen him and he's home and I need to not let go of him for a little while. I'll be back.

Just for a little while.

My house has been full of people since around five this morning. And I'm not going to be here to enjoy any of them, but I know they love me and I know they want good things for me.

Bailey and Erin are going to be sharing care of the kids and looking after my Jacob.

I'm going to go somewhere where I can get some help. I'm going this morning. I'll be admitted at eleven.

You see, life isn't supposed to be this hard for anyone and I'm constantly sabotaging myself because it feels better when I hurt. I can no longer deal with things and it's time to stop putting off real help. Just know that Jacob is not the bad guy I make him out to be. I have torn him up with my words and just about ruined him, and neither one of us can take me anymore. Not this way.

Wish her luck, I know she's in here somewhere.

More dust.

I'm going to figure this all out if it kills me. Templates, I mean. Not relationships. That would be too hard.

Update 3:12 pm- going to give up. any. second. now.

Overnight.

I love the stacks of paper and abandoned pencils that lay scattered over Jacob's desk like autumn leaves on the grass. I love the way he sweeps the whole mess onto the floor in a blizzard of white when he pulls me down for love renewed in strange places, assuring me that my worth is of more than his scribblings, more than his thoughts on paper.

I love that the windchimes ring constantly in the colder mornings and that the morning ritual of a fire is a necessary chore now. The smell of the smoke and the crackling fill my nose and my ears separately and I shiver into some clothes and head down in search of a strong coffee and a long hug.

I love that he can now somehow anticipate how far downhill I have slid overnight by how tensely I sleep.

Star in the dust.

Even though I opted not to take the job at the church, I'm helping Sam out a little bit here and there while he looks for someone to fill the position. Today I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the steps in the foyer when I realized I was being watched.

The church has three gardeners, basically three of the more reliable men who frequent the shelter Jacob volunteers at. They hold odd jobs and pay for their rooms and stay out of trouble. Two of them were standing in the doorway watching me. Just curiously, like I was a bird who might fly away. That's when I realized the reverence they hold for Jacob, and the fact that we sometimes live in a movie.

A western, to be certain.

One of them said quietly to the other,

That's the Reverend Jake's Miss Bridget. Ain't she pretty?

Breathe water.

We stood in the cold saltwater, up to our ankles in foamy, freezing surf while seaweed in heliotrope-hued goosebump bubbles swirled around our feet, catching in our toes and caressing our heels.

We held hands. The soft rubbing of his thumb on my fingers, on the back of my hand. His hand, warm and strong and self-assured. The wind had forced his hair to whip into his eyes and he shook his head and turned to block the wind from my face.

Cole smiled softly.

I'm going to ruin you.

Instead of responding I turned to go back up the beach to our blanket. Only he wouldn't let me go.

I'm serious, Bridget. You shouldn't be with me. You used to be so happy.

I never answered anymore when he started to talk like this. He would get angry if I did and I learned a long time ago that the small moments of self-doubt that crept into his words were enough to help me remember that once, he loved me. Once, he wanted to be a better man. It was better to let him speak and let him get it out and then he would turn back into the Cole I knew now.

You should be with someone like Jake. Or maybe Ben.
He'd laugh.

And then he would be gone, just like that. And the Cole I didn't like would come back. And most of the time when that happened I would stand in the surf and wish the ocean would swallow me whole.

The luxury of falling apart.

Proceed at your own risk. You can always tell I'm tired when I tell you things you don't need to know and my punctuation leaves something to be desired. Or when I tell you about a quarter of what's on my mind and it makes little sense as a result.

Something to be desired. Yes. There's the theme for this post.

Sometimes funny songs make it into his repertoire. Constantly singing. Perhaps it's the peril of marrying the (casual) lead singer after having been married to the drummer for so long. Every song you hear that stands out winds up being played back to you, sometimes in the form of the strolling afternoon minstrel who has run out of things to do and is now following you around the house while you put away laundry, wielding his acoustic, and singing the theme from Snakes on a Plane.

I kid you not!

    So kiss me goodbye
    Honey, I'm gonna make it out alive

Some days are incredibly skewed from before. Our dynamics change and briefly we're given a taste of the partnership we cultivated as friends. Friends on equal footing.

He pointed out today feels alot like those times when we got comfortable enough to finish each other's sentences or to leave them be. To be comfortable together in spite of the albatross roosting between us. To be friends with all the expectations we heaped upon each other, swords drawn, dares stated and left to be fulfilled, if we had the guts.

Jacob sees his own doctor and has finally been given some medication to help relieve the pressure of being Jacob, married to Bridget. He is absolutely stunned by how much he managed to hold together and bottle up unwittingly over the past two years and the toll that has taken on him.

I'm dealing with all that fresh guilt, feeling responsible and he (and everyone) keeps trying to insist that it's not but really I'm not that dumb. In a way it's a huge relief because I've been worried. Jacob has crashed brutally just when things start smoothing out or when I feel strongest and then we both start over again. We're trying to prevent the crashes, the meltdowns, the lows or at the very least be decently equipped to deal with them when they occur.

I never want him to bottle his emotions and try and be strong for me when he doesn't feel strong. I don't want to wear him out or drag him down or put pressure on him anymore to fix things he has no control over. I want him to be happy. Happy in his own skin, happy with this life, happy with me and I want to be happy with him.

His own breakdowns served so many purposes. Reminders of our losses. Reminders of his humanity when I build him beyond his earthly capacity into someone who can fly. Reminders that it isn't just Bridget going through hard times and reminders that he can't hold things together forever and sometimes he fails. Sometimes he falls. Sometimes he doesn't want to be everything.

Sometimes he resents me.

One of the biggest, most shameful aspects of his feelings for me would be the resentment. How could I charm him into my life and then flaunt my other friendships, other relationships in front of him. How could I take his heart and then throw it away, repeatedly. How dare I not stick around and support him when he is angry or frustrated or overcome. How awful that I would close a chapter of my life he hasn't even read yet and refuse to have a baby with him, what he considered a knee-jerk reaction.

All of those are hypocritical. He approached me first with his emotions. He's thrown my heart away out of self-preservation needs. He has not supported me when I was overcome or frustrated. He closed the chapter first after losing the baby, he refused to comfort me, refused to talk about it.

He works so hard in some ways and closes off other avenues of communication with audible thuds. He's a walking contradiction.

What's good about it?

It's normal. Oh so normal. It can be changed, it can be encouraged and supported and turned into the right kinds of reactions. The right kind of openness. Without resentment. Without the need to bottle up. People like Jacob can only bottle up so long.

He has a great analogy? Metaphor? Story. Okay, no it's a sermon that details beginning a rocky, perilous journey on a road paved with broken glass and we're crawling on it with nothing to protect our flesh and as we learn to cope with the pain and the hardship we are granted shoes and soon the glass is sand and then it becomes quicksand but we conquer that too and then it's gravel and our shoes are worn so we get boots and pretty soon we'll be able to hail a cab. It's a very funny way he tells it. Not funny comical but funny touching. Every now and then in the story, he'll stop and take my hand or I'll distract him through a rough spot. It's hopeful.

Someday I'll get him to write it out.

He is human. A medicated broken human working to get better. To be better. To deal. So we can find the really good part of the road and stay on it. It's way easier for him to sing all these goofy songs on the smoother parts of the road.