Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Once you start hoping you open yourself up to devastation. It doesn’t always end that way, but it rarely goes as perfectly as you hope. There’s almost always some level of disappointment. 

Then there’s the total devastation. The higher your hopes get, the harder they fall. No matter how many times my hopes get shot down, I still end up getting my hopes up again. How am I not a bitter person? How am I not cold and heartless? 

How am I still here?

I’m so tired of living in this world. I’m so sick of the cruelties and disappointments. Sick of everything being so damn complicated. The joy is too short lived and the agony is too drawn out. I spend more time in my own fantasies than I do living my life. 

I feel so empty and I’m just sick of it. 


Mornings Are NOT My Forte

This morning I awoke groggy as ever. My husband said the dog had an accident on the carpet and he wasn’t able to clean it because he was running late for work, but he had let the dog outside. I get up and make my way down the hallway when I realize I’m wearing nothing but a pair of lacy booty shorts. Ugh, well the kids are still asleep and no one else is around so whatever. I continue on.

I find the dog’s mess and clean it up then I let her back in and put her in her kennel then make my way back to my room to get dressed and ready for the day. Eyes are barely open and I’m walking by memory when suddenly a searing pain spreads through my second toe and I’m falling towards a wall. I manage to catch myself before my face slams into the wall, but as I put my foot down harshly on the floor more searing pain hits. I stumble, half naked, to my room and flop on my bead, moaning in agony into my pillow. As my vision clears I inspect my toe and it’s already started to become discolored and swollen. I hobble out of my door to see what I just stumbled on and it’s a damn suitcase we’re going to use for our move.

I am simply useless in the mornings without my coffee. Now I get to work on getting my house ready for a small gathering I’m having as Hobbles McGee.

Baby Steps

I can’t even begin to describe exactly how these last couple of months have been for me or how much pain I have caused for those around me and those whom I love dearly. 

It’s been a crazy roller coaster ride, to say the least. A lot of fighting, talking, crying, laughing, and reminiscing. 

My husband no longer hates me, but he is still very mad at me. We are working through it every day. We are doing our best not to play the blame game and to actually resolve our issues rather than sweep them under the rug. It is not easy. It is exhausting, but at the same time my husband and I have been having more meaningful conversations in these last few days than we have in our entire marriage. It feels good to open up and to have him open up so much. 

We’re discovering new parts of ourselves. It’s almost like we’re dating for the first time all over again.  It’s really nice. Once we get to Illinois we’ll actually be able to go out, away from the kids, and do something we can enjoy.  

Life lately has been filled with such consuming darkness with moments of blinding light. Things are finally starting to feel like they’re balancing out. I’m not as afraid to move forward. I’m skittish, but taking baby steps. 

More Midnight Madness

I’m not good at this. Life I mean. Life is messy. Complicated. Painful. I’m cold and empty. 

I’m living in a house where I’m hated. It takes every ounce of will power I’ve got to keep from running away. I don’t blame him for hating me. I hate me too. I can’t run away from myself, but I can run away from this house. Well, I could if it weren’t for my kids. I can’t leave them. I’d end up killing myself. 

I’m not going to lie, suicide has been drifting through my thoughts. It quickly gets replaced with thoughts of cutting. I resist the urge to slice because I couldn’t bare the guilt of one of my kids seeing my wounds and I’m almost two years away from hitting my 10 year mark. But my knife is here now…

I’m not going to do it. But I want to. So so badly. I’m tired of this weight. I don’t want to do anything because I’m afraid I’ll screw up even more than I already have. 

What’s really shitty is I’m not the only one at fault, but I’m the bad guy. I have reasons for my actions, but they’re only seen as excuses. 

I’m so sick of feeling every emotion. I can’t enjoy the good ones because I know the bad ones are close behind. I want to sleep, but I’m terrified of the nightmares. 

I’m sick of my privacy being ripped away from me. Read my blog. Read my Facebook. Read my Twitter. If I put in out on public space feel free to read whatever you want, but my personal journals are off limits. No one has a right to my journals except me and me alone. The same goes for my personal emails. Stay out! 

I’m spiraling. I need to stop. Writing brings me peace, but it’s also my undoing. Time for music. 

Destined for Nothing

I’m not destined for anything good. I ruin everything I touch. That’s why I need to go away and be alone. I’m more determined than ever to become a mortician.

There’s solace in being around the dead. 

Ashes to Ashes…

Three and a half years ago I met a man in the most unlikely of places. It was a random, social website and it was by pure happenstance that we became friends. 

After about three months we decided to exchange phone numbers. We spoke almost every day for nearly a year until life got a little too busy for us to continue that, but we still kept in regular contact. We helped each other through a lot of struggles. We were there for each other, supported each other, and loved each other. No, not in a romantic sense. Nothing close to that. It was as close to a father/daughter relationship I’ve ever experienced. 

On April 9th we found out devastating news. My dear friend was losing a battle with cancer when we only just found out he had it. It was extremely aggressive and by time he started feeling the symptoms of it, it was already too late. My dear friend was beyond treatment and was given a lifespan of three months. He took the news with grace and dignity and straightaway set out to make amends with all those he loved. He maintained a positive spirit and a hopeful heart and he remarried his ex so he could be sure she and their two children would be well taken care of after he left this world. He worked as a corrections officer for many years and earned a good pension. His family will be well cared for. 

Today I found out more devastating news. Last night, on May 13, 2015 my dear friend succumbed to his battle with cancer. I found out through Facebook. My newsfeed became flooded with people he knew tagging him in posts, sharing pictures, sharing stories, and wishing he and his family peace. I have no idea if he was surrounded by his loved ones or if he passed peacefully in his sleep, I have no idea. What I do know is when I awoke this morning he was the first person on my mind. After I gave my children their breakfast I decided to send him a text message asking him how he was doing today. After all it has been a couple weeks since we last spoke. it breaks my heart knowing he will never reply. Seeing all the posts on Facebook about his passing was so painful it felt like my heart was getting ripped from my chest. I sat there and read on and on in disbelief as tears began to freely flow down my face. 

I felt a panic attack coming on and immediately called my mother. I bawled on the phone with her, seeking answers and comfort, until I finally felt ok. I love my mother so much. She would have liked my friend. 

Though our time was short, it is filled with wonderful memories. We never had an argument with each other. We never exchanged harsh or negative words. He has been a constant light in my life. I feel so lost without him. But I know this is not goodbye forever, it is only farewell for now. I will see him in the afterlife. I hope he’ll have a lawn chair waiting for me with a smile on his face and a hug ready in his arms. 

I love you so much. Rest in peace, my dear friend. 

Sorry, Not Sorry

I’m feeling so sick to my stomach from both rage and sorrow.

You view me as less of a person because of one small detail about myself. This thing does not define me. I am still a good person. I am still kind, caring, genuine, helpful, smart, etc. It is no fault of mine that you choose to see me as scum because I don’t fit into the mold you think I should. Guess what? You don’t fit into the mold I thought you did, but despite your disgust of me, I don’t see you as less of a person. I respect your opinion. It saddens me greatly that you choose to see me so negatively, but there’s nothing I can do to change it so I’m not going to be bothered by you any more. I feel that you are trying to remain true to your personal values and I respect that even though I believe you’re going about it in a very crude way.

I do believe you need to humble yourself. You asked, “Is everyone apart from me fucked up?” That is a rather presumptuous view to have. I know from personal interactions with you that you have a multitude of issues, none of which have I judged you for, therefore you are just as fucked up as you think everyone else is. I suggest you step down from your high horse before the beast bucks you off and you’re left alone and humiliated.

I will not apologize for who I am. I hope you find peace within yourself. I hope you learn how lonely your world will become before it’s too late.