search instagram arrow-down
penelopie wilson


most recent posts

Top Posts & Pages

previous posts

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 46 other followers

Follow hilltop confessions on


sometimes i think that my husband and the man are in on it together. that they both hate me equally as much and have bonded over that hatred. perhaps they get together from time to time behind my back and form plans on how they can work as a team to slowly beat me down into a pile of nothingness.

the man always claimed to never like my husband. said he never treated me right. said i deserved more. the man said many things. things that time has proven he did not mean. logic would indicate that, perhaps, these were more of the same. maybe he secretly agreed with my husband the entire time and felt that my husband was justified in his behaviors and actions. maybe the man felt i deserved more than what i got. more pain, more punishment, more hate and abuse.

in any case, they seem to be in sync.

the man didn’t just break promises…he broke me.

much to the delight of my husband. to an abuser, there are few greater things in life than kicking a woman while she is down. beating a defenseless person is where they gain most of their enjoyment. my husband is in heaven. i am in hell.

so many levels of hell.

i’m currently struggling to breathe. i’m trying to constantly bandage up these open wounds that continuously gush blood. they bleed so much, so fast, that i can’t keep up. they need stitches. they need looked at. however, the only person i’d ever allow close enough to deep wounds like this…is gone. he pulled out his machete, opened me up all over, and just walked away. gutted me like a fish. he was both the injurer and the healer. both gone.

open wounds like this will never heal without someone to love them shut. i’ll never permit anyone close enough to do so. so, these wounds will never scar. they will continue to bleed until i have bled out and am no more.

i will have to carry these emotional wounds of his decision with me for the rest of my days. if God has mercy on me, may my days be numbered…and may that number be small.

he has cursed me. not only to live the rest of my days without him, but to be forced to consistently look back and be drowned by the memories of him.

of us. of the way we were. of the way it was. of the beautiful lie i believed. of the man i thought i knew. the man i thought he was. the man i loved.

the man i still love.

because…even now, even if i am foolish and stupid…in my heart, there is a part of me that keeps telling myself over and over…

it wasn’t a lie. that he wasn’t a lie. that i did know him. that i wasn’t wrong. and that thisthis man he has become…is not the man i knew. while comforting, brings about a whole new level of pain and disappointment.


i had never been disappointed in him…until now. until that day. that day months ago when he broke his promise. disappointed in him for so many reasons. on personal levels…on professional levels.

my soul chose his, and a soul doesn’t just forget that. a soul is not a foolish and flighty heart. a soul is not a fragile and forgetful mind. a soul has substance and depth. it chooses with reason. with purpose. with knowledge. my soul was drawn to his, much like north and south pole magnets. a moth to a flame.

the way peanut butter seems to always find jelly and macaroni always finds its cheese. my soul is loyal to the souls it designates as worthy of its own. loyal and deliberate. my soul is cautious and thoughtful. intentional and calculated about every move it makes. my soul is old and carries a great deal of wisdom. yes. my soul chose the man. it will not be able to just forget his soul, or the man, that it picked.

my soul is cursed to live out the rest of its days with his soul coursing through, bringing memories and the remnants of a happiness and joy that i’ll never experience again. and every night i close my eyes. i sleep a restless sleep, gaining, at most, a light and spotty four hours. in my dreams i see him. hear him. smell him. when i awake i awaken to a fresh new hell every morning.

he is still gone.

i dream of him only to wake everyday to relive the pain of losing him all over again. it’s like a fresh new hell, relived again and again. the dark version of groundhog day. except my version is about abandonment, rejection, loss and worthlessness.

and i remind myself that i am nothing.


nothing to him anymore. then i correct myself. i was never anything to begin with. perhaps just a way to pass the time. or even worse…maybe i was just someone he used to lift his spirits when he was going through a hard time. marriage, family, work. when things improved, he threw me away. disposable. perhaps i was a bit of flattering that lightened his mind, his heart, his soul, his body. perhaps i served only one purpose: to softly and meaningfully caress a bruised, beaten and fragile ego. once that ego was repaired enough, he no longer had use of me and threw me out the window while he was driving.

used and thrown away.

i began to think a week ago that maybe my entire year of rehab was a lie, as well. he was such a primary part in me getting clean. if he broke several of the promises he made to me over the course of the last 7 years…how many more things were just lies? maybe my recovery was a lie, too? maybe everything during that was a lie.

maybe my sobriety, in fact, means nothing.

are truths delivered by promise breakers and liars still truths? are all words and promises lies when more than one promise has been broken? how can you figure it out, then? how do you sift your way through countless conversations and decide the genuine from the fake?

if my sobriety is based on a man i never truly knew, a man i had wrong all these years…if my sobriety is based on lies and deceit and emptiness…then why am i still sober? does that make my sobriety nothing more than lies, deceit and emptiness? if i truly meant nothing…why then?

the most disturbing thought? the most painful thought?

what if i was never anything more than a paycheck? after all…that was our initial foundation. perhaps that’s all i meant. maybe that was all he cared about? wasn’t ever me.

maybe there was never a boat. maybe that was always another lie he told me? a lie i believed.

i no longer know. i can’t figure it out. truth? lie? truth? lie?

did he mean it when he told me he loved me? did he ever even care?

no. you don’t leave. you don’t abandon those you love. no. it would seem as if he never cared at all. lies. more lies.

and when confronted about everything being lies…he doesn’t even bother to tell me differently. no passion. no anger. nothing. confirming that i am, in fact, nothing. if i loved someone…if i cared…and if i was accused of everything i did, and said, being a lie…i’d walk through hell to defend myself.

if he ever accused me of never caring about him, never loving him, of everything i ever said to him being a lie…yes. i’d walk through hell in an endless pursuit to make sure he knew the truth. that i did care. i did love him. i meant the kind and heartfelt things i said. and more so: that i do care. i do love him…and i still mean all of the things i said. i’d never passively sit by and let him think more lies. which just confirms my point.

i was never anything to him. nothing. not even that lost penny. perhaps not even a piece of trash.

i. was. absolutely. nothing. to. him. and everything he ever said, or did, was a lie. a lie.

my husband was a whole new level of…awful tonight. i cried. the world, this life, is too much. i just broke down and cried. he didn’t care. didn’t phase him. i didn’t care. the crying wasn’t for his benefit. wasn’t to gain anything from him. it was simply because i could not hold it in.

and so the tears came down. fast. like rain. i doubled over, arms on the counter, head in hands, and just allowed my body to convulse as the pain came crashing out of me like violent waves on the shore. i no longer care.

he left. walked out of the room. mumbling curse words and various hateful bits as he went. i was unable to lift my head. the emotional and verbal beatings ko’d me today. which wasn’t hard because i was already down. the man already had me ko’d. the man must’ve phoned my husband today and simply ssid,

“finish her.”

and so he did.

they are so similar in so many ways.

at least to my husband i am something. worthless. but something. trash.

i searched and searched this house for some stashed pills. drug addicts generally keep a stash of something somewhere for extremely rainy days. i found some old xanax. popped some. had to. i couldn’t get a grip. i was spiraling. spinning and spinning. and…i couldn’t breathe. couldn’t quiet my thoughts. couldn’t get a break.

i need to find a way to contact some of my old “associates” and restock supplies for rainy days. of course, if i get ahold of my old contacts, i’d better find some shit better than xanax. what i found today was actually an old prescription of mine. i don’t go to doctors anymore. hate them. refuse. absolutely refuse to go. so, black market here i come! ready to throw my sobriety away. a sobriety that was based on a relationship of lies…

a sobriety that means absolutely nothing now.

ironic, too, since my 6 year sobriety anniversary date is right around the corner. i no longer have anyone in my life who knew me when i was using. those who know me now don’t care to hear about my past. it’s a mistake to not know your addict, all of your addict. even the part you don’t much care for.

i could relapse any day and no one would know. those from my past are gone and those in my present are clueless. they don’t want to know. they don’t really give two shits. easier to deal with.

i’d tell someone that it’s my 6th year sober anniversary on the 11th…but no one would care. no one still in my life. hard for people who never knew me to care…to be grateful. they never had to witness the me before rehab and recovery. the me that walked hand in hand with death and destruction on a daily basis.

the people in my life now take my sobriety for granted. it’s dangerous and foolish.

i tried to eat tonight. i swallowed one small bite, literally. almost got sick. can’t do it yet. no food.

made myself drink a little juice.

i have had a fever today. not for sure why. it will pass, i’m sure. took some advil.

i told my husband i’m on a diet. i’m not. but he got excited. he says i’m fat anyway. my brokenness will hopefully make him happy.

i pray. death, come find me. i’m afraid, but stiil. come find me. quickly.

the darkness continues to roll in. i find the doom beginning to settle as the winds pick up. the thunder has started to turn up its volume and the lightening is coming closer and closer.

the storm approaches.

i know. i can feel it.

see, i can only see one solution to everything now. one. “one ring to rule them all.” but…one solution to rule them all. only one way out, now. one way to fix everything. one way to make things better. one way to make it all stop. one way to bring peace.


the only cure for this life.

when you can only see one solution to a problem, or problems, you no longer have any hope. it’s freeing…and depressing.

hope. the second most damaging four letter word. love. love is the most damaging four letter world.

death…i’m still waiting. please. please don’t make me have to come find you.

end me now before it’s too late. end me…before i get restless and potentially…well…just end it.

death. i’m growing increasingly impatient. take me. i’m ready.

Leave a Reply
Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: