I Just Want to Live!

I want to live my life in peace. I want to have lazy days in my own home with my family. I want to let my kids run around and make messes. I want to make them meals. I want them to have their own space. I want my husband to have his own space. I want my own space. 

I don’t want to sit in a car, hiding from my husband’s grandmother or sit in her basement, again hiding, listening to her footsteps above, feeling like my kids and I are in a dungeon. 

It breaks my heart that as I write this I’m in the car with my two boys watching a movie, they’re strapped in their car seats. They ate, but I didn’t. I typically don’t eat breakfast anymore. I’m focused on getting the things we need so we can hide “comfortably.”

I watch the gas in our car slowly dip lower and lower. I watch my boys try to get comfortable after sitting in these seats for hours. I can’t take them to the park, it’s too cold and windy outside. I can’t take them to the mall, too much gas will be used. I still have to be able to get to work. 

I can’t stand this!

I grabbed two small bananas from the counter before I left her house and I stare at them hungrily, but I grabbed them for my boys. I don’t want them to cry with empty bellies. 

I feel homeless. I haven’t showered in two days, my boys haven’t bathed in four days. The grandmother gets pissed at us for using so much water. She expects us to save our shower water and bathe all three kids in the same water. And she thinks I should only shower once maybe twice a week. My husband can shower every day because his job leaves him caked in cornstarch residue. 

Our belongings are spread out in four different locations; her house, the other grandparents house, our storage unite, and our car. 

I can’t go to the other grandparents house until later because their landlord is a dick and doesn’t give a shit about our hardships. He says we need to pay $500 a month to live there, regardless of the fact that we don’t live there. But we do our laundry there. I take my showers over there. My kids eat there. I often don’t because I know they’re low on food. 

We might be able to get a place in a month or so, but I don’t want to get my hopes up because the owner would have to sacrifice a good bit to let us rent her home until we can buy it. If that falls through we’re back to square one. 

My oldest boy, my middle child, is such a sensitive boy and this situation is extremely stressful on him. He’s used to being able to go lay down in his own bed when he gets upset, but now he has nowhere to go. He has gone backwards in his steps to potty train. Both grandparents get on him about not going potty in the toilet. It doesn’t help him. He’s two, almost three. I just want to give him his own space. He’s so much like me. It hurts me so bad that I’ve put my kids through this. 

If I never came here with my family things would be better. My husband’s grandmother wouldn’t show her hatred of me. All those fights never would have happened. Things would be better. 



I hate my life; I do have people and things I love too much to let go. 

I hate my body; I have learned many ways in which I love myself and will continue to find more and improve myself for the better.  

I feel unheard; I will make my actions speak louder than the roar of a thousand lions. 

I feel worthless; I am worth so much more to my family, to my children, alive than dead. 

I feel ashamed of my past and my dark thoughts; no one is perfect and my story has made a huge turnaround from then till now and it can become better still. 

Life is pushing me down; I will push back harder. 

I Could have ended my story; I chose to keep writing. 


She lays in bed, staring at the tv with glazed, puffy eyes. Half paying attention to the show, partially distracted by her husband’s snoring, completely engulfed in her personal pain and sorrow. 

Every day, as she rests her head on her pillow, she feels her essence breaking. She tosses and turns, trying to figure out how to stop the pieces from falling. Her husband’s persistent snoring only makes her foundation crack that much more. This time she’s going to snap completely in two. Dear God, ROLL OVER!!

He complies and for a moment she has one less thing in her life that’s breaking her. But her body still hurts. Her thoughts still race. Her heart still breaks. Go to sleep. Just go to sleep. Go. The fuck. To sleep. Suddenly, Samuel L. Jackson’s voice plays in her head. She wants to smile, but it doesn’t come. 

Her eyes ache and she’s beginning to get a headache. But her heart is racing as if something terrible is on its way. She tries to tire herself out with games on her phone. They’re all boring. Too boring to even bother with. 

And he’s snoring again. Please just end my suffering now. Take me away from here. Take me away before I cause irreparable damage. An empty prayer to no one in particular. Apparently. 

There is no peace. Life is a never ending cesspool of shit. 

Ugh, that’s dark. Who am I, Sweeney Todd? Go to sleep. Go to sleep. GO TO SLEEP!

So. Fucking. Broken. 

But when she finally sleeps, those cracks start to mend. Some pieces go back to their original(ish) place and she can then get out of bed and push through the rest of the day until she breaks all over again. 

The Lioness

A lioness has been showing up in my dreams a lot lately. Sometimes as a nightmare, sometimes as a peaceful dream. She’s often in the background until the very end when she either murders me or nurtures me. 

I wonder what she’s trying to tell me. It’s something conflicting I’m sure. 

One time she ate me alive. I was weak and helpless and she plopped down at my side and began eating. I did nothing to stop her. I could do nothing to stop her. I just watched her and I swear she was crying. It’s really weird watching yourself being eaten, even if it is “only a dream.” 

Another time she rescued me from a large, male lion. He was a massive beast and I was offered to him by an unknown group of people who wanted to see me eaten for their enjoyment. He went straight for my throat. I fought so hard, but he sunk his teeth in me. I began acting like I lioness myself, hissing, growling, and clawing at him, but nothing worked until she ran out and saved me. She fought him off and at first he refused to let go, but she was relentless. Finally he let go and I sank my teeth into the bridge of his nose. He stared at me. We stared for a long time, but he finally moved into the shadows. My lioness licked my wounds and would let no other come to me. 

I’m positive it’s the same lioness each time. It’s a feeling I get. A feeling of familiarity. I love her. Even in the nightmares where she murders me, I love her. I’m terrified of her and in admiration of her power, but I don’t hate her. I don’t feel anything negative toward her. 

I wish I knew what she was trying to tell me. 


Mommy vs Spider: A Brief, Terrifying Encounter

Yesterday my husband and I stopped to get much needed gas for our car. He pulled up to the pumps and asked me to pump the gas while he goes inside to get a drink. Sure thing. 

I walk around the car and as I approach the pump, to my utter horror, I see a very large, very alien looking spider. I let out a little shriek as I call for my husband. He comes over to inspect and jokingly says, “Awe, it’s just a little guy.” 

Infuriated I correct him. He blows on it to provoke some movement and it stretches it’s legs making it three times larger than how it looked when it was neatly tucked into itself. I cover my eyes and scream, “Are you crazy?! Don’t do that!!” He laughed and told me it wasn’t going to get me. He assured me it wouldn’t move. 

I collected myself, dusted my dignity off, and proceeded to try and pay at the pump. I inch closer, trying to completely ignore the creature. I step between the pump and the car and something brushes against my arm and I threw my dignity into the dirt and went batshit crazy. I ran away like a little kid, screaming, “Nope! Nope, nope, nope! Can’t do it! Sorry, Babe. I can’t.” He chuckled and gave me the keys so I could move the car to another pump. 

Not long after I moved, another car went to the pump with the extra feature and he didn’t bat an eye. Damn you dude who’s capable of rational thinking. He didn’t let it phase him, but that thing that’s hundreds of times smaller than me sent me running. Ugh. 

I filled the car up and left my dignity where I threw it. 


*I love this post. I love it so much. Thank you, hastywords!*

Depression is NOT an emotion or mood. It might be described as a mood disorder and definitely moods/emotions are part of what is exhibited with depression but I think the description is deceptive.  Sure depressed people FEEL sad, anxious, helpless, and/or worthless; but depression is a physical disease. Sadness (also called heavy-heartedness) is emotional pain […]


Once Upon A Time

I used to be an outgoing person. I think a part of me still is, but I care too much about what others think of me. Well, I’ve always cared too much, but I used to be way better at hiding it. Even as I write this and as I think about the other posts I’ve made, I worry about what you will think. Do I know you? Are you going to Google me to find out more about me? Are you going to read more? Are you going to think to yourself “how pathetic is she?” 

I often forget why I even started this blog. Why did I start this blog? Oh, right, I started it as an outlet for myself as well as a way to let others know they are not alone in their suffering. We may have different situations, but we feel the same. Or maybe you have a loved one whom you don’t quite understand what they’re going through because you’ve never experienced it yourself, maybe I’m able to give a little insight. I dunno, hopeful thinking. 

Back to my original topic; I used to be outgoing. I used to love being in large crowds, smiling at strangers, having random conversations, etc. any time, anywhere, anyone. Now I generally dislike being among people. I’m picky about the crowds I go to and if I’m in a crowd I don’t want to be in, but it’s unavoidable (the grocery store or other shopping centers) I’m irritated and stick to what I went in for so I can get the hell out. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown up. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown wise to the ways of the world. Or maybe it’s because I isolated myself for four years and, as much as I hated it, grew used to being away from the world. 

Or all of the above. 

I miss how I used to be, but I don’t know if I can be that person again while living this life. They don’t seem to mix well.