Love Wrecks

Between a Rock and a Hard Place 1

In this post I talk about what triggered my mental breakdown.

It’s like trying to choose between a set of triplets.

Honesty and Authenticity

I figure if I’m gonna end up being locked away, I might as well let you all in on what’s truly going on.

I truly believe in honesty. Being honest in all things, in all ways.

I have found the telling the truth, even in difficult situations, it’s easier then telling lies.

Though, I have learned that being completely honest with all people is highly dangerous.

So I’ve been going back and forth and forth and back and finally came to this conclusion: I really have nothing else to lose, or maybe I do and just have no clue what it is.

Anger can mask any and all emotions.

Not the beginning, but…

I was my mom’s caregiver. I was in what I thought was is a stable and fulfilling relationship. I thought the two of us communicated well, got along pretty well, and were just going through a rough patch.

I had only one friend during the relationship, because I withdrew from my recovery due to caring for Mom and being in a relationship.

I told myself I simply didn’t have time.

I told myself I had plenty of recovery in me. I would be fine.

I told myself I didn’t miss the meetings, celebrations, the people.

I told myself I was cured.

Who knew what form temptation would appear as…

I was wrong

A mutual friend came to me and told me my boyfriend was using drugs and he didn’t know what else.

I felt as if someone had come and ripped the world out from underneath me. To say I was devastated seems like such a gentle and polite way of describing it.


Everyone in my mind became statues. Flash frozen in place, holding whatever position they were in when the information was revealed.

The shattered fragments of my soul gathered around my body confused and unsure of what happened or what to do.

Thoughts seemed hard and sharp. Their long, razor-sharp thorns slicing through my mind leaving destruction and waste behind.

An invisible steal girdle, tightened to the point of near breaking, forced the air out of my lungs. I didn’t have the strength to force air past the steal girdle.


We just have the difficult chore of figuring out what the right lesson is and acting upon it.

Rivers of tears poured down my face, gasping sobs escaped my throat. My eyes searched for any kind of refuge, but found nothing except the stark and bleak reality left to me.

My broken heart was the least of my problems

My one friend, upon hearing of my experience. Became angry and hateful. Then…

“Well, I better get home and take care of my family. Give me a call when you feel better.”

And out the door she went.

I lost two people in a couple of hours. What the hell was I going to do?

I spent several days crying my eyes out. Everywhere I looked were memories and reminders of what a fool I was.

Those who could feel were incapable of anything but crying.

Those without emotion had disappeared into the shadows. That left only the small children. They were 1 year to 8 years old.

Several days later, I realized that life had to continue. I had to take care of my mom and our pets and myself. There was no one else. There was no one to turn to, no one to help.

I learned how to do this.

I gathered all the mail, sorted out the bills, wiped more tears from my eyes, and opened each envelope.

  • Electric – cut off notice. 3 months behind.
  • Gas – cut off notice. 3 months behind.
  • Phone – cut off notice. 3 months behind.
  • Rent – eviction notice. 4 months behind.
  • Water – cut off notice. 2 months behind.

The monthly average was a thousand dollars a month. I had to pay that plus some extra to bring the bills current.

My mom’s Social Security wasn’t enough to pay the monthly bills. I couldn’t work because I had to stay and take care of Mom.

The house was stuffed full of junk to the point of small pathways through our two bedroom house. Boxes and piles of things gathered through three lifetimes. And there it all sat, weighing on my shoulders.

I cried myself to sleep as I had done for the past week, wondering if I would ever stop crying.

This has been a very long post, so I will stop here. The worst is yet to come.

Until next time…

By Jen Christopherson

Jenna (Jen) Christopherson is a person of dreams, realistic and extraordinary. Her favorite hobby is to read and her passion for writing is unparalleled. As a child, she read a library and then wrote a library.

"In the heart of what is good there is a storm of sinister proportion." As said by the very same.

Nothing is without balance.

Josh Prugle