I am tenacious. Bitch.

I currently have a blog in my drafts entitled "The One With Two Steaks and an Eggplant" that I was writing for my friend, Beth, but I felt this was more pressing to get to.

Here's a conversation I had at work today:

Jenn: "How's your baby?"

Sari: "My pregnancy ended up being ectopic. I haven't really worked this last month, because of the cancer medication I was being injected with..."

Jenn: "Oh my god, Sari. How are you and your fiance handling all this?" 

Sari: "Not well. We broke up."

Marc and I are no longer together. We are both dealing with this the best way we know how. We both love eachother, and I know we are both hurting. And, before I start this (and pretty much air our laundry publicly and embarrassingly) I want to mention that I don't think Marc is a bad guy. It is just clear to me that we aren't meant to be long-term, I guess.

I know I made the right choice in sticking by this decision. I just feel that I deserve better than being dumped like trash when he decides he doesn't need his medication, and I don't want to sign up for a lifetime of repeating drama.

I have been through this before with him. He dumped me, and left me with no place to go the day after Christmas in 2011, out of nowhere. Nine days later he was committed. While in the hospital a lot of things bubbled to the surface, and I forgave him.

I forgave the cheating (with multiple partners, of both sexes, unprotected while he was still sleeping with me), the lying, and decided that I wasn't going to throw away my relationship, because I had some experience first hand in 2005 how it feels to be very, very manic. I knew in my heart that something was off, and when he was placed in the hospital due to abusing his Adderall during a pretty severe manic episode-- I stayed as faithful, and stubborn as possible.

Marc would never hurt me while in his right mind.

I cleaned his house after he spent seven days straight awake-- doing Lord only knows what, and pissing on the walls, I went and got his car and brought it back to his place, helped take care of d'Art and Fitzwilliam, and tried to be supportive and loving to him, and his family. I did all this, because I had known for months that there was something wrong and I couldn't put my finger on it. I decided to forgive him even after he told his sister I gave him cocaine (which I've never even have touched in my life), and made up a butt-ton of crazy stories.

He has a selective memory of the things that happened during that time (and has a pretty selective memory of the things going on presently), but he was so bad his parents told me at one point that he would have to be placed in a 'home'...and once he was released from the hospital he was like a scared, rabid animal.

But, Marc did what he does that makes me attracted to him in the first place. He worked hard on changing his situation, because he was unhappy. It was a slow process, but he worked hard-- for the first few months after being out of the hospital the cocktail of medication he was on made him sleep all the time, and gain weight, but after a while that tapered off, and his doctor had him on something that was working well.

I stayed his friend, and we worked really hard to repair the things that went on between us. When we got back together I made it abundantly clear that I wasn't going to be one of those couples that break up a million times, and get back together a million times. It's pathetic, white-trash, and not something I am interested in doing the rest of my life.

The 29th of March was the day we officially broke up. I begged him, not to stay with me, but to give it a week before making a decision that would potentially change both of our lives, forever. At first he agreed that he wanted to wait a week before making any permanent decisions. But, then he told me four times in a row that he couldn't be with someone he felt was 'abusive.'

After the fourth confirmation that he no-longer wanted to be together I got up and I called my parents. Eight hours later, he changed his mind-- saying; "third times a charm..." But, like Marc pointed out, he knows how I am once I set my mind to something, and I make a decision.

And, now I feel ashamed of the things I put up with just to hear someone tell me that he loves me.

Even with the medication things weren't perfect-- Marc has been caught several times trying to meet up with people, either on Craigslist, or on gay local websites. He took private pictures that I posed for, for him, and took those naked pictures and put them online without my consent, or knowledge.

And, the worst part was taking himself off his medication without anyone's knowledge in November, continuing to take his mother's money she was giving us for his prescription, and then deciding to tell me after the fact.

I got him to go in to see a doctor, and his doctor said he was willing to see how he would do without the medication, and it's become abundantly clear to me that he is not doing well.

A few days prior to our breakup I started having a really bad, sinking feeling. I couldn't put my finger on it, and since I've pretty much been bed ridden for the month of March I just continued trying to express my feelings to Marc, to facebook, hell to anyone who would fucking listen (I should have just called Jess from the get-go).

During this miscarriage, and the experience of having an ectopic pregnancy Marc was really distant (he tried couple times to be comforting, but this was pretty short-lived. I just kept trying to look on the positive side of things). I chalked it up to him grieving. But, when I told him that I felt so depressed that I was having suicidal thoughts, and that I felt lonely, and like I needed him, he told me that I had become too sad for him to be around. He made me walk home from most of my appointments at the U (I could have gotten on the bus, but after each of my appointments, I was bawling, and crying on in front of strangers on public transportation is NOT my idea of a good time), and started staying up all night, maybe only getting four hours of sleep a night.

And, the catalyst that set it all off? On Thursday morning (the 27th), it was my second day back to work, and I asked Marc if he could give me a ride that morning to Old Navy, he told me no, saying he had a meeting and that he was anxious to get to work early before the meeting. That evening I ended up finding out that he ran off to have coffee with a girl that Jess is good friends with, and once more he also told me that he was staying up all night talking to her.

When I told him I found it weird that he was hiding this new friendship, that turned into me trying to 'control' who he can be friends with-- throwing the fact that I don't let him hang out with his friend Tom in my face, and that he was unaware that he couldn't have friends. Tom is an old friend of his that was convicted for child pornography, and I have fought him tooth and nail to not have him in our home, because 1) that's gross, 2) I was raped repeatedly as a child by an older cousin, and I don't want convicted sex felons around me, and 3) Kieran, Liam, and Violet are in our home a lot, and I would kill Tom (even though I don't know him) before he would be allowed to so much as look at those kids.

And as far as his new friend, Darcy, I found it odd that he couldn't take me to work, or be there for me in during my sad and dark time, but he had the time to invest with her.

Our fight that night consisted of some pretty epic screaming from me. He basically was live-tweeting our argument to Darcy while it was going on in front of me, instead of actually speaking to me. He started telling people that I hit him-- his mom, his sisters, my best friend, her husband, and Lord knows who else. Which has been incredibly triggering, because of my past abuse I endured from Josh beating me, raping me, controlling me, telling me I am not lovable, and from the things I experienced from my biological mother's mental health.

I sob every time I think of laying my hands on him, because I don't have that in me (regardless of the raging part of me that's from Springfield), and I know he's saying those things, because he is going through some pretty heavy shit, but to me it is inexcusable.

When I spoke to my dad about this particular part of our fight my Pops told me not to let Marc define me. I am not, nor will I ever be my mother, and I will never be in a million years be anything like Josh. And, I am not abusive.

Now, it's the hard part. I kept feeling with this miscarriage that things couldn't get worse-- but, they did. However, it's my experience once you've hit rock bottom there is nowhere else to go but up..."and still I rise."

I made a doctor's appointment with a therapist named Jenny Vasquez for Friday to get me support for my grief. And, because I have no money because I have been spending my money on an elopement that's never going to happen, my friend, Samantha, found someone to buy my hoopcamp ticket off of me. I put my elliptical on KSL, I've been staying the last few night's at Jess' just because a baby can heal a broken heart, and children's laughter is like medicine to sadness. I have to sell a bunch of my things, because I don't have the means to keep them, and I am trying to figure out what my next move will be.

I can stay in Utah near my kids, and my Jess and Ian, or I can move back home. I have Noni offering to open her home to me, and I have a friend from High School that offered me a spare room in his home.

I know Utah isn't my forever home-- I've always known that, and part of me wanting to move back to Oregon so bad is because I dislike so many things here, and when I got pregnant last Fall I physically ached at the idea of raising a child here. I wanted to move to Oregon with Marc, because I felt like that was the place for us, and our someday family. Plus, I love it there. It is beautiful, clean, mysterious, has great greens, and my roots feel embedded there.

In the same breath, I don't want to see my mom in Oregon, ever. All of my family is now scattered everywhere (a sister and niece in Montana, a brother and sister-in-law in North Dakota, three sisters in Illinois, and my parents, grandma, and two of my brothers are in South Carolina), and the main reason to stay here is Jessie and the kids.

The idea of losing three kids again kills me (it makes me think of not seeing, or speaking to Alex, Ryan, or Nicole), and in the five years I've had The Compound as my home I have really felt like it was MY HOME too. A place where I can totally be myself, and everyone still loves me. A place where I feel valued, and like I'm part of a family.

In the meantime, I've been watching this a lot and it helps tremendously each time I see it. As Momma-Deana said once; "Preach it, Meada!"