Breaking into Pieces 

I had a pathetic breakdown last night. It started at work. I got in and, for the third night in a row, I was the dish bitch. I do dishes at the hell house, I do dishes at the other grandma’s house, and I often get stuck with the dishes at work. I’m sick of doing dishes. So I was in a bit of a pissy mood. It got a little better near the end of my shift. 

I got off a little late, but it wasn’t too bad. My husband was asleep, but he woke up and we managed to spend some quality time with each other. I later watched a few episodes of American Horror Story: Freak Show  (I love AHS), next thing I know it’s three in the morning. I turned off the tv and shut my eyes. Thoughts raced, guilt swelled up in my throat, guilt from my attitude at work that night, guilt from something I’d done around the age of five or so, and guilt for every age in between. Rage from being fooled so many times. Sorrow from losses. Regrets. Regrets hurt so much…

I went on Facebook to keep my mind from going all over the place. Whoops. I came across this video in my news feed:

This broke me. I have no father and, as pathetic as it sounds coming out of a grown woman’s mouth, I wish I had a daddy who loved me. I cried in the dark until exhaustion overcame me. 

Tonight is not much better except I don’t have enough care within me to cry. 


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