I have spent the better part of the last 4 months driving my husband crazy, making sure he checked the mail every single day, without fail. I was expecting something that I thought was going to change my life. I hoped it would change a lot of lives. Perhaps, it would make ours better. I would have finally achieved a goal that I had been trying to obtain since I was in third grade. On November 1, 2014 a publishing company told me that they had every intention of publishing my book. They welcomed me to the family and told me that my contract would be on the way.
At first, I checked in with my contact frequently. Eventually, I would email him at the first of every month because I still hadn’t received my contract. I was promised every time, that despite some difficulties they were having, they had not forgotten about me. I was still going to be published.
I held onto that. Probably for much longer than I should have. Finally, after reaching out once again on March 2nd, five months after first being notified of the deal, I received an email from someone I’ve never spoken to before. She indicated that despite what I had been told, there was no contract and there never would be. Even if they wanted to publish my book, they couldn’t because they don’t publish those types of books anymore. Good luck.
It was gone. My dream was smashed into a million pieces, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I had absolutely no hope. I cried off and on for 3 days. I still cry at the drop of a hat. The few people that responded when I posted the news online, really didn’t comprehend the magnitude of the situation. They don’t understand that telling me not to give up, or to publish it myself isn’t helping. It isn’t as if I sought out one publishing company and when it fell through, I gave up. Initially, I did try to publish it myself. This costs money that we don’t have. I was able to secure a few donations, but I never made a profit on the book, and honestly it was a joke. It wasn’t professional, and my work needed more editing.
After that, I had someone who was a publisher that I was working with. This proved to be a frustrating and insulting experience. I finally told her that we had to part ways. For nearly a year after that, I contacted other publishing companies and was either turned down, or discovered that they would charge me thousands of dollars to publish my book. This company was my last hope in every way.
Every single day, I wonder what my husband’s life would have been like had he not married me. Someone with a disease that they have no control over. Someone who is often looked down upon and someone who is often forced to question the validity of the condition they suffer from. This dream I had would have made it possible for me to never have to question myself again. I know I could have helped people, and I know I could have helped me.
I sit in my room every day and think. I look back on all of the people that were once in my life, but aren’t anymore. I think about all of the people that I once counted on. People that I would have done anything for, and I often did. Yes, there were times when I wasn’t the perfect friend, but I was loyal to them, and I was there for them. I don’t know those people anymore. I have no family to reach out to. For a short time, I thought I might be able to rally some people together to help me, and when I tried I was met with only a deafening silence.
My heart breaks for all the time I have lost in this life trying to be a better friend, the better sister, better aunt…better wife. I can’t burden my dad with all of this, he has far too much to deal with already. I have my husband, and by God I am so grateful for that, but it’s times like this that I would give anything to have a real, honest, I’ll be right over friend. Even a text message would help. Someone that could be broken-hearted and outraged, even if they were pretending just for me.
In a few weeks, I’m going to be 42. I never thought I would be so alone. I purposely sat down and tried to look into the future. What do I have on the horizon? What can I look forward to? What can I plan for? Hope for? Nothing. I have no idea where I’m going, or what will happen next. At a time when I can barely get out of bed or stop crying for an hour at a time, I am once again questioning myself. I was a fool for believing that I was good enough to make this happen. I won’t even put writer on my profiles anymore. Being able to form a sentence, or tell a story doesn’t a writer make.
It’s been a long time since I have been this low. In my future, all I see is more loss and heartache. One day, my dad. One day, my babies. None of them will be here forever. I’m alone except for my husband that I wish I hadn’t dragged into this screwed up mess of a life.
It hurts. I am physically in as much pain as I am emotionally. The sad truth is, all I can imagine is people reading this, thinking “Oh boo hoo…get over it”. Believe me, if it were an option I would get over it immediately, but it’s not. Am I feeling sorry for myself? Yes, probably. Do I deserve to? Of course I do…and I really don’t give a shit if you don’t agree.
If you can’t be here for me during this time, then I don’t need you in my life. I’m hurt, I’m angry, I’m heartbroken and devastated. I would expect that anyone that really cared could respect that. I wrote this blog for me and only for me. To help get some of this off my chest so I don’t have to carry it around with me. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but sometimes the truth hurts.
I have yet to determine whether I will keep writing after this. With each post, I always had my eye on the prize. This would be a book one day, and I would live my dream. Now I wonder if I was simply experiencing delusions of grandeur. I have put myself out there. Told my life story, and it was rejected. Do you have any idea what that feels like? I opened wounds that needed to stay closed in hopes that my story would make a difference. Perhaps, on a small scale it made some sort of difference, but on a larger scale? Quite simply, I failed. Now I have to live with that.