My Weakness and My Strength

I almost wrote a suicide note today. I don’t know if I would have done anything after writing it, I didn’t want to tempt fate. I almost relapsed this morning. Apparently I’m still a recovering cutter. I am so close to my 10 year mark. As of right now, 11:45pm on July 5th 2017 I have 46 days left since the last time I self harmed. 46 fucking days. I never thought I’d actually make it 10 years, but here I am. So god damn close I can almost taste it and I nearly threw it away. 

But why? Why did I nearly abandon my desire, my dream to better myself? Because motherhood is shattering me. Living this life is killing me. I can’t imagine my life any other way. I sometimes try to, but it’s never better than what I have now. 

The only reason I did not relapse,  the only reason I did not write my suicide note or make any plans to end my life is because of the very children who are breaking my sanity. As I sat on the edge of my bed, sobbing uncontrollably, all three of my kids sat around me, hugging me and pat my back in an effort to comfort me. I cannot betray them. The only thing they are guilty of is giving me a purpose when I didn’t want one. 

My family does not deserve the burden that I am. I wish I were a better mother and wife. I try so hard to be, but I fall miserably short. 

I am so sorry.

I’m Being Haunted… Or Stalked…

I’m messed up! Oh God you guys I messed up bad! I’m currently trapped in my bathroom. I don’t know what to do. There’s only one way in and one way out and I can’t go through it!

This started two days ago. It was late at night. I was up reading my book when nature called. As I was washing my hands I saw, out of the corner of my eye, something move up the wall. I quickly look up and stare into the beady eyes of the Octimonster! I never broke my gaze as I was washing my hands. After I finished up I frantically started thinking of ways to destroy it.

I didn’t want to call my husband because he had a long day at work and was sound asleep, I didn’t want to just walk away because I never would have gone back to sleep, my only option was to eradicate the creep. 

I absolutely can not stand using toilet paper to squash bugs, I physically can’t do it, but I had a squirt bottle of hairspray… I grabbed that bottle and squirt hairspray all over it. It freaked out and fell onto the counter, squirming and writhing, so I doused it some more. 

Like any super villain ever, I was overconfident in my ability to wipe out my enemy and walked away before I could confirm it’s death.

Fast forward to today: I climb out of my relaxing shower to get ready for my day, as I’m wrapping the towel around me I look up and there the bastard is, on the side of the door. I am proud to say I did not panic, however, I turned to grab a Q-tip and when I turned back it disappeared!

Now I’m panicking. Naked. Nothing but a towel. My glasses are in the next room so I’m blind. I’m trying to scrutinize the floor for even the tiniest movement, but it and the floor are about the same color. Where tf did it go?!

UPDATE: I made it out of the bathroom, still have no idea what happened to it, but I’m out. Guys, I’m starting to think I created a vengeful spirit. That might be the Supernatural fan in me talking, but it’s been hours and there’s no sign of it. 

Oh God you guys… What have I done?

What’s in the Box?

Just as I was beginning to think that my arachnophobia was getting better, life had to serve me a big slice of humble pie…

I was at work (Pizza Hut), busy cutting pizzas that were to go to a high school for lunch. I’m barely cutting them faster than they’re spilling out of the oven. After they’re cut I need to slide them in their boxes and get those boxes into delivery bags. I’m on a good streak. I’ve got a good flow going, then it happened.

I flung open a box and as I was sliding a pizza inside my absolute most hated arachnid, the Daddy Longlegs, lost it’s absolute shit and scurried around the box! I screamed bloody murder (and may or may not have peed myself… [I did, but just a little]) and my boss and the new trainee I was training came running. I was pressed against a refrigeration unit just opposite the box when my boss came in. I made a lot of hand gestures and squealing and my boss looked at me as if I were having a seizure. Finally I managed to clearly say, “SPIDER IN THE FUCKING BOX!” Tactful, I know. My boss inspected, found the spider, then proceeded to GRAB IT WITH HIS HAND and kill it. He took a step towards me, to make sure I was ok, and I acted no better than the eight-legged little shit that freaked out on me. I ran away from him with the absolute fear of God gripping my chest.

That’s when I realized I kinda peed a little. We were all laughing, yes, even me because I knew just how ridiculous I was being, but y’all need to understand something; when I see someone has touched a spider with their bare flesh my brain reacts as if that person is now infected with a zombie-spider virus and if they touch me I will also be infected. I know, trust me I know, just how ridiculous that is, but in the moment I am not governed by logic.

It took my boss a couple minutes to reassure me the thing was dead and all was well. We threw away the pizza and I now had an oven on the brink of backing up. My trainee was watching me and noted that I jumped a little every time I opened a box.

I now walk among you, more humble than I was this morning and I will not underestimate the depravity of those eight-legged nightmares every again.

Nothing is sacred.


I Think I’m Finally Figuring It Out

A baby step in the grand scheme of things, but a step in the right direction. 

I don’t handle rejection/disappointment well. In fact I tend to avoid doing things because there’s always that possibility. It’s no way to live life, let me tell you.

Recently I had to deal with crushing disappointment. More than once, but one stood out above all others. I was supposed to go out with my best friend and her coworker/friend, I really needed that night to happen for several reasons, but her husband requested her presence at a function his coworker was having and she has a duty to her husband (plus he almost never goes to social events that aren’t her planning so this is a rare occurance thus strengthening her sense of duty to him). I understood and was not mad at her or even her husband, I was just mad at the situation and very disappointed. 

I was hurt, but I began making inappropriate jokes (she totally fueled them). It started as a mask to hide my hurt, but it turned into something rather cathartic for me. I vented my frustrations through humor rather than lashing out (which is usually my first instinct when I’m hurt) and it totally worked. By time our conversation ended I felt better and had a rather enjoyable evening with my husband.

Humor doesn’t have to be a mask, it can be a release. A coping mechanism. Laughter is wonderful medicine. 

I’m not able to afford professional treatment or medication. I’m forced to find alternative ways to keep myself sane. I’m prone to choosing harmful and unhealthy ways, but this time I feel like I’ve finally gotten something right.

The Cup of Shame

I introduce you to this struggling mother’s shame. It is a large coffee mug (one of my favorites) filled with ice cream (today’s shameful flavor is chocolate chip) which is smothered with both chocolate and strawberry syrup and hot cocoa mix (yes, darlings, powdered cocoa) sprinkled (dumped) on top. 

Fuck my figure, fuck my care, because it feels like my life is going to shit. Bills are overdue, car took a shit on us, money too short, month too long, and marital spice is a bit more on the spicy side and lacking on the zest. My saving grace for the day is the fact that my three kids were good for a majority of the day. Even when I had my ridiculous meltdown because the stupid burger patties were frozen in the middle and refused to pull apart and instead they crumbled so I just threw the damn things on that fryer as I screamed because, fuck, I can’t even cook burgers right!

So I cried and bawled over broken patties and my kids, all three of them, heard my pleas and came rushing to me and hugged me and rubbed my back and told me everything would be ok…. They saw me in a way I wish they never had, but they loved me even in that moment and I thanked them and told them to go play and dinner would be ready soon. 

The truth is, I don’t think everything will be ok. And, frankly, I’m tired of hearing “everything will be ok.” It’s nothing personal to the loved ones who have said that to me, but in this moment nothing feels ok. Let me feel this moment because your words of encouragement do not reach my core. You don’t actually know that everything will be 100% ok. You have faith that my husband and I will figure it out, but you don’t know. 

I’m sure you’re right (you typically are), but I need factual assurance in times like these. Best wishes (while appreciated) don’t help me in the moment of a mental breakdown. I barely hear it. I need to feel my moment of hopelessness thoroughly before I crawl out of that pit (with help or on my own). 

And, darlings, I am feeling it. Every calorie, every ounce of sugar and fat and crap, oh yes. I am feeling all of it and I don’t care if this cup kills me. It’s delicious and it’s filling the cracks in my breaking heart. 

Tomorrow (or possibly Monday because the banks are closed tomorrow) will be better. I’m 75% sure. Which is really good because I’m typically a lot less sure about these kinds of things. Soon I will have solutions, game plans, and a sense of purpose I didn’t give myself before. Yes, changes are coming.

…And possibly another cup of shame because I still feel pretty shitty. 

Absolute Frustration

It’s really a shame how Facebook (or any social media for that matter) can get between family and friends.  When they can express their opinion, but shame on you if you express your own that doesn’t share their view. I’m so sick of people acting like everyone needs to wear kid gloves around them because God forbid you offend them! Or disagree with them. I’m sick of watching someone I love make the same stupid mistakes I made especially when they are being handed more opportunity than I ever got at their age.

I have my own issues I need to deal with and if you want to shut me out, fine, I will let you because it’s one less thing to stress me out (she says knowing full well she’ll continue to have anxiety about this issue until it’s eventually resolved…). I am more than willing to help out those in need to the best of my ability, but I can’t help those who refuse to help themselves.

I fuckin’ love you, you frustrating person you, and I hope that one day you will grow up to realize exactly that. I love you and have tried to be there for you while dealing with my own crap, but I’ve been sitting here, at the ready, hoping that you might actually take a helping hand. I’m angry and hurt, but that does not mean I’ve stopped loving you or stopped caring, but for now, for my own sanity and until you come to some kind of self realization, I’m done.


Keep Moving Forward

If Life has taught me anything, it’s that you can overcome damn-near anything it throws at you. For some of us, Life seems to have an itch that can only be scratched by giving you non-stop crap that overlaps each other and continues on as far as the eye can see. You can have the most positive attitude ever, but that doesn’t solve the situation.

I like to think of my view as realistic rather than pessimistic. The world doesn’t offer much to anyone. You have to go get it. You either steal it or you earn it. Rarely (and I’m speaking as a middle-class, job holding mother and wife) does anyone just hand you anything. If someone offers you help then you just gotta swallow your pride and accept it (if it is, in fact, helpful).

I have been through more than my fair share of shit and the hits keep on coming. My husband and I have been through things that would normally tear two people apart, but we’re still here, together. I’m not entirely sure what keeps me going anymore. A sense of duty perhaps, love, stubbornness…. All of the above I suppose.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t think I’d make it to the age of 25. I am now 29. I’m quickly approaching my 10 year mark of resisting the urge to self harm. That is also something I didn’t think I’d live to see. I have made so many mistakes in my life, in this marriage, my attitude is less than desirable most of the time, but I am trying to be better, to be happy in this life I never saw for myself. A life I never wanted for myself.

Now let me be clear, I never wanted this life because I 1) never saw myself making it this far and 2) was terrified of screwing up my kids and making my husband miserable. But now I have this life, a life I never saw for myself, wanted, or prepared for. I have it and I can’t picture myself being without it, but I don’t know how to be happy with it. I don’t know how to cope with the loss of my hopes and dreams. Ok, maybe “loss” is the wrong word, so let’s say “changes.” I’m not sure how to deal with the changes in my life.

I’ve been trying to do it on my own, but I’m not able to. I’m also not able to afford the help I do need. I’m also not eligible for any state aid/assistance of any kind. So how do I push forward when I have no idea what direction to push or what I can push with?

I have no answers yet, all I know is somehow I will make it to tomorrow. I will keep going, day by day, fighting, searching, and pushing until I find the answer and become whole again.