Another Sleepless Night Torturing Myself

As I write this it’s nearly 3am and I’ve given up the idea of sleep since I have to be awake in three hours. I’m feeling consumed by my emotions. I see and feel art in nearly everything. I’m simultaneously overjoyed and deeply saddened, both to the point of tears. It’s making me lose hold on reality. 

I need to work tomorrow morning and this weekend I get to look forward to two double shifts. While I need the hours and I am willing and able to work them, double shifts are an emotional breaker. Moreso than a physical one. 

Now, as much as I understand my responsibilities and what’s expected of me, I can’t shake the overwhelming desire to scream like a wild animal, run for the hills, and demolish anyone that gets in my way. 

I’m tired of trying to run away from my life, but I’m also tired of fighting to live when all I want to do is crawl into the earth and never resurface. 

Some days I can’t seem to be able to handle the simplest of tasks like getting out of bed or eating let alone going to work or caring for my family. These last couple of days have been exactly like that. I can’t stand moving or dealing with screaming, needy children or a husband begging for affection. 

The thought of going to work tomorrow and serving customers makes my skin crawl. I’m tired of serving ungrateful people who seem to forget that my coworkers and I are people too. 

I’m so tired of this madness. Literal insanity. Taking hold of me, ripping my being to shreds, yet leaving no outward trace. My composure is too great (thank you military) to let just anyone know of my suffering. 

I know, I know, sounds like a bunch of whining. Maybe it is. I don’t fuckin care. Half of you readers probably stopped reading a while ago. I wish I could say I don’t fuckin care, but I do. I care. I’m well aware of the fact that I don’t shower many deserving blogs with likes and comments, but sometimes it’s hard for me to read about the joy/success of other when I feel like a broken down, beat up loser. 

I am trying so hard to change, I just don’t know how to while I’m in my current frame of mind. 

It’s Been a While…

I know it’s been quite some time since my post before last. A lot has happened and a lot is still going on. 

I got another job so now I have two. My first job is a production associate/waitress at Pizza Hut, which has shifting hours so I’m working either in the morning or at night, and my second job is being the third shift cashier at a poorly run truck stop. Sometimes I have to go straight from one job to another. Sometimes my only window of opportunity to sleep is 5 hours, but it’s a 45 minute drive from where I live, so that plus time to get ready is now a three hour window. Maybe three and a half. 

The next bit of news that is very happy and exciting is we finally got a place of our own!! It’s smaller than what we’re used to, but it’s ours and I love it. It’s put us closer to my husband’s job, but further away from mine. So I’m trying to find a job closer to home. We need to look into daycare as well because I either need a full time, $10+ hour job, or continue having two jobs which will continue to suck the life force out of me. 

The hardest thing about having these two jobs is that I don’t have the time or the energy to do the things I enjoy. My blog has been left in the corner gaining dust and cobwebs. My vlog is basically a figment of my imagination now. Drawing, writing, coloring…these are all things I don’t have time or energy for. But these are the things that pull me out of my sadness and self-loathing. 

I’ll go 24+ hours without seeing my kids. Which, honestly, I could handle if my husband, or some non-judgmental person who listens to my instructions, were  watching them, but it’s his mother or grandmother (who hates me). Both woman don’t listen to what I want for my kids. Both think they know what’s best for them more than I do. Both don’t take me seriously as a mother and will find ways to step into my role. 

And both seem to think I’m an idiot.

So I’m trying to find a better job and affordable daycare. It almost feels like an infinite loop of “I can’t do one before doing the other” and it’s annoying as Hell. 

Makes it difficult to enjoy and appreciate my new home. 

Something You Should Know About Me Before You Judge Me

First and foremost, I love my husband and my children. Second, what I say here may paint my husband in a bad light, but it is not my intention. My husband is a good man, but he is human and makes mistakes. His good intentions can be misguided at times, but he is a good man and he cares very deeply about our kids and myself. 

That being said, I need to vent about the fact that I’m being judged for my short temper with my three kids that I chose to have. 

Growing up I made the decision that I never wanted to have kids. I am the oldest of five kids, nearly eight years older than the second born, and I learned very quickly that motherhood is not for me. I’m not patient enough. Screaming and crying children make my skin crawl. 

When I became pregnant with my first child, my daughter, my husband (then fiancé) and I were practicing safe sex, but the condom broke. I was 21. 

Before I became pregnant with my second child, my first son, my husband pressured me into having another child. He and I weren’t doing so well in our relationship, but he and I had talked in the past about children and I had (foolishly) mentioned to him that if I ever had kids I would not want an only child or a middle child. My husband used my past words against me and bullied me into having another kid. It didn’t take long before I became pregnant. I was 24. 

Immediately after giving birth to my son I was fighting doctors to get my tubes tied. No one wanted to do it because I was under 30, I “only” had two kids, and my pregnancies weren’t high risk. I told my husband I was not comfortable having sex until I was on some kind of birth control. Well, he and I were still rocky, becoming evermore distant, sex was our only form of intimacy, and so I felt pressured and obligated to fulfill my wifely duties. As a result,  despite (yet again) having protected sex, when my son was only six months old I became pregnant with my third child, second son. I was 26. 

I could have “chosen” abortion, but it is not the kids’ fault I didn’t have enough of a spine to stand up for myself. For me, abortion is not an option. I would not want to put myself through the psychological turmoil I am 99.9% positive I would go through. 

The fact of the matter is I know I’m not a good mother, I know I lack a lot of things, but being told I “should have thought of that before having kids” will make me want to be a very violent person. Because the fact of the matter is I did think about these things before having kids. I tried to prevent having children, but life has a funny way of fucking you over. 

I get so angry and ashamed for being able to easily become pregnant when I deserve to be sterile because of all the wonderful women who should be able and deserve to be able to have children. I become angry and ashamed when I take for granted the thing they desire most. It’s not fair. It’s not right. I wish I could change it. 

Part of my worst struggle is knowing I’m no good for my kids, but I can’t stand the thought of living without them. I hope one day they will understand I’ve always loved them, I’m just not good at being a good mother. 

Why I Have A HUGE Problem Being Told I Have White Privilege 

*Trigger Warning* I discuss incidents of sexual assault and rape. If you are triggered by this type of behavior I urge you to proceed with caution or stop reading entirely. 

There’s no denying I am a white female, but what I fail to see is how being a white female means I have “white privilege.”

Privilege * privuh-lij *

  1. a right, immunity, or benefit enjoyed only by a person beyond the advantages of most: the privileges of the very rich.
  2. a special right, immunity, or exemption granted to persons in authority or office to free them from certain obligations or liabilities: the privilege of a senator to speak in Congress without danger of a libel suit.
  3. a grant to an individual, corporation, etc., of a special right or immunity, under certain conditions.

I could keep going, but I think this will do. I am not immune to shit. I have not benefited from any kind of special rights. I’ve not been made to feel special in any way. 

I have, however, been made to feel ashamed for having these mythical rights and benefits.  

I have a French name as my first name and many people (for reasons I really don’t understand) think it’s a “black” name upon hearing it. I was teased by both the black and white kids. My maiden name is Spanish. I have not a drop of Hispanic blood in me. My biological father was adopted by a Hispanic family. Because of my white skin and Spanish last name, the Hispanic kids often tried to beat me up. You know, because I chose my last name. 

When I was sexually assaulted by my black friend’s father almost immediately after I turned 18, I wasn’t feeling very privileged. He got me drunk, took risqué photos of me, then laid me on a sleeping bag and groped and fondled me, telling me he wouldn’t fuck me because his cock would rip me in half, I still did not feel privileged. When he dropped me off three blocks away from my house, right in front of a drug dealer’s house, in the middle of the night, and forced me to French kiss him before he let me out of the car, I still didn’t feel privileged. I know, I know, I’m so ungrateful. 

When I joined the Navy and got to my first command I was greeted by sighs of disappointment because I was not a Latina woman (remember, Spanish last name, white skin). My Hispanic chief went out of his way to treat me like shit, tell the improper way to do things, then wait for an officer to catch me and yell at me, the “white privilege” was so profound. 

When I was raped by several black men, one Hispanic man, and one white man, all of whom were supposed to be my shipmates, my brothers, I felt so fucking privileged that of all the white women on board that ship they chose to fuck me without my permission. And when I broke down and cut myself and got shipped off for several psych evals, chose to report them, and was told, by a white man, an officer, that I deserved it, Then was swiftly kicked out of the military under medical reasons while those “men” walked down the corridors of my former command free and clear, yeah I was reaping all the benefits of my “white privilege.”

But wait, there’s more!

I felt so God damned privileged when a handsome, mixed raced man conned me into becoming a stripper, becoming his bitch, becoming my pimp then would tell me I’m nothing but a privileged white bitch living in a fantasy world right before he’d rape me. This happened repeatedly. He especially enjoyed fucking my mouth. He’d force me to suck his dick for an hour sometimes. Yes I was definitely put in my privileged place. 

Now, because I was kicked out of the military well before my two year mark, I don’t even get the benefit of the full G.I. Bill. Employers look at me and see someone who came no where near fulfilling their four year commitment. Because I married and had children with a military man I had to quit two of my jobs and have years of unemployment in between jobs, I can’t find a decent job to save my life. And yes, I fill out the optional ethnic and gender part of the application. On paper I look unreliable, but boy howdy my “white privilege” is swooping in and saving my pale ass.. Not!

“White privilege” might apply to the rich white schmucks, but it does not apply to me so I’d greatly appreciate it if you would stop judging me by my pigment impairment and stop assuming I have so many privileges at my fingertips. I am just a human being trying to survive in this fucked up world. 

Now if you’ll excuse my privileged white ass as I go to my nearest Panera Bread and grub with my equally privileged white female friend and shove food down our privileged faces as we scoff at those beneath us. 

An Open Letter to My Grandmother-In-Law

What have I done to you to make you hate me so? Is it the dumb decisions I made when your grandson and I first got together? Because if it’s that you should know I’ve grown away and learned so much from that time. Regardless, that was for me and your grandson to work through, not for you to stick your nose into. 

Why is nothing I do good enough for you? Why do you behave so childish and petty towards me? I can’t help but feel you liked it better when he and I were going to get a divorce. Now that we’re working things out it seems that you hate me even more. Why? What in God’s name have I done to you? I sleep at your house, but I’m not allowed to actually live there. I can’t shower, wash clothes, or even do dishes. I’m not allowed. Why? 

You do realize the more you push me out and piss me off the more privileges I will take away, don’t you? Do you think after all the horrible things you have said to and about me and all the ways you have made my life and the lives of my children miserable that I would trust you to spend time alone with them? As it stands right now you will have no unsupervised visits with them and the only person I authorize to supervise the visits is my husband. You will not be calling me and asking me to come help you with your computer/TV/Internet or to get you groceries or wine. I will not answer your phone calls.

I am not doing this to be mean, I’m doing it to protect my family and myself from your destructive behavior. Once we actually get to leave your miserable house you will have zero say in our lives. You will have zero rights to anything of ours. 

I know you had a miserable marriage and you had to give up the things you enjoyed because you became a mother. Well, I’ve learned I don’t have to do that. I can still be a good mother and do the things I enjoy doing. I am not you. I don’t want to be like you. I want to be a happy old woman, not a miserable one. Like you. 

You want me out of your life. Fine. Getting rid of me means getting rid of my kids. If I had it 100% my way you’d never see them again, but I love my husband and he loves you which is why he can supervise visits. I’ve done nothing to you unprovoked or unwarranted so I’m very confused as to how our once pleasant relationship went to hell. 

Your unwillingness to bend is causing you more problems than anyone else causes for you. You make your life more miserable than it has to be. You’ve kept yourself so busy with your preconceived assumptions about me that you’ve never even bothered to get to know me. The real me. You think I’m rude and lazy. I’m far from it, I’m just not going to bust my ass around your house when 1) I’m not allowed to touch anything and 2) nothing I do will be good enough for you anyways. Why bother? You think I’m selfish. Again, far from it. There’s a big difference between being selfish and taking care of oneself. You think I’m a bad mother. Guess what? No one is perfect. Not even you. Your own daughter doesn’t want to talk to you. One son has very little contact with you and the last son is just about your only ally at this point. I’d rather not have my kids grow up to hate me. I want them to want to call/visit me. I want my grandkids to say, “Yay! Grandma’s house!” Not “I don’t want to go to Grandma’s house” then cry. That’s what my kids do nearly every night when we come back from avoiding you. 

Be miserable if you want, but I will not let you turn me or my children into your minions of misery. You are on your own. 

Sincerely, 

The Woman You Never Bothered to Know. 

Selfish Thoughts

I’m having another one of those “I can’t be a mommy anymore” days. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids, but I don’t love being crawled on, stomped on, kicked, hit, bit, smashed, scratched, screamed at, whined to, cried on, “clean me”, “feed me”, “change me”, etc. I’m so fucking done. I’m no good at this bullshit. Most days, I fucking hate it. 

I’m impatient. I don’t have it in me to deal with all the hair pulling, scratching, climbing…. I think you get my point. Days like this are really bad because I want to run away. I want to be selfish and heartless and just do whatever I want to do. But I’m not heartless. I can’t just abandon everyone. 

I don’t think I should stay. “But the kids need their mother!” No, they needs a mother figure who loves them and teaches them. I love them, but I’m a terrible teacher. I yell, I scream, I often can’t even hug them when I’m feeling like this. Being touched is overwhelming. You can’t reason with a toddler. Or a five year old. 

I want to be alone. I want to have my own place. I’ve never lived on my own. I only want to pick up after myself and make my space look exactly as I want it to and have it stay that way. I want to be able to sit out in my living room and watch a rated R movie (or an adult film…) without worrying if my kid(s) will walk in and see things they shouldn’t. 

I know, I know, I’m being incredibly selfish. I wish I had someone who would magically swoop in and save me from myself before I do stupid shit. 

I’m Worried About My Son

I think the stress of living with my husband’s impossible grandma is taking a toll on my older son. He’s two years old and a rather sensitive boy. He’s been acting out by pushing his older sister, pushing and kicking the dogs, taking toys from his baby brother, and I’ve noticed his drawings have been changing. 

   
 
These two drawings were made a few days after we came here. 

  
This was made roughly two weeks after being here. 

   
 
And these were made just a few days ago. We’ve been here for three weeks. He’s been stabbing the paper with the pen and when I try to get him to draw happy faces he says he doesn’t want to. 

Maybe I’m overly concerned about this, but my sweet boy seems to be having trouble coping. I’m not sure how to ease his hardships. 

If anyone has any suggestions I would appreciate it very much. I hate to see my kids dealing with crap they shouldn’t yet know exist. 

I don’t understand why she is being so impossible to live with. I hate waking up every day wondering if today will be a good day or bad. Have I done enough chores? Will I get it right? Are my kids going to be perfect or are they going to be kids and piss her off? The list goes on and on (and on and on and on…………….) and I don’t know how much more I can take.