Sunday, December 4, 2011

One day in the life of...

Once again I've been MIA from the world of "blog about it because you're really the only one who gives a shit".  I'm sure there's a reason I haven't been around. I've probably been busy or something.  Honestly I've sat here for a half hour trying to compose my thoughts in a way... so that what I write... won't sound crazy. I haven't gotten very far with that. Then somewhere between thinking, nervous twitching, and sipping on a mid-day white russian my eyes stopped on the title of my blog. Crazy. It's right there in the title. So who gives a shit. (I believe we've already established that. Me.) 

Another problem I have with this entry is how to write what's on my mind, without really writing what's on my mind. You know what I mean?  No. You probably don't. Sometimes I want to write what I'm really thinking and really feeling, right this very moment. But doing that would most likely leave a mark. A scar. A bruise. It would most likely cause more damage than healing and I'm here for healing, I think. Not damage.

I'm damaged. There is no doubt. I've damaged myself. I've been damaged by others. Mostly I'm glued and taped and forced back together, but each new scrape always opens an old wound. That's how damaged I am. So much so that it pisses me off.  Expecting anyone to understand this is pointless. Expecting someone to understand that when they hurt you they set off a chain reaction of all the other times they hurt you and all the other times others hurt pointless. People don't understand this. Unless of course, they too, are damaged.

I don't know how to fix anything. I never have. Once it's been broken, it's always broken, isn't it?  I've been trying mostly to just fix me. Okay, not really "fix" me. I've been trying to do what I can so I don't fall off the edge. I'm right there. I can feel it. And when some outside force, or something someone else does affects me, I teeter. I get dizzy and lose my balance and then even think about jumping,  but remember my son, and know that I can't.

Right now I would give anything to just erase the shit in my brain and start over. It's not doing me any good. I can guarantee you that much. But I can't. My 9th grade science teacher told me so. She also told me I wouldn't want to forget. Fuck her.

I'm rambling, I know. It's the crazy. Maybe I just have too much on my mind. In my mind. Maybe I expect more of people than they are able to give. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this. Any of this. Relationships. Motherhood. Life. Giving a shit. Maybe I wasn't. Judge me if you want. I'm just being honest. Brutal, maybe, but still honest. Some people are cut out for it. They relish is doing and giving to others. They participate. They volunteer. They go, go, go. They wash their husbands/boyfriends underwear while turning a blind eye to the fact that he's fucking or desperately wants to be fucking someone else.  Then they talk about how blessed they are. Some people are really just "cut out for it". 

I think I lost my train of thought. Too much on my mind, like I said. Along with some Anger. Can you sense the Anger?  I think I'm going to learn how to shoot a gun. Not to kill people of course, because that would be really crazy. And I'm only crazy enough to say shit no one wants to hear. I want to shoot a gun because so far nothing else has really worked, so why the fuck not? 

I should probably stop rambling, but honestly I'm a shitload less anxious now. I really am. So, I guess it doesn't even matter what I wrote or how crazy it sounds to anyone else because...I feel better. And that is what this fucking blog it about. Tune in next time for "Anxiety: what it really fucking feels like...and the symptoms of Lorazapam withdrawals."

Hope, who feels a little like the female Holden Caulfield...and regrets never being able to have lunch with J.D. Salinger."


  1. No one is "cut out for it." I'd bet my entire unemployment check that at least 90 percent of them pretend to be cut out for it. They volunteer because they don't feel needed in their own lives, and they fold their husband's underwear because their husband can't or won't do it for themselves. And finally, because it gives them something to do besides take a long, hard look in the mirror.

    What they're not cut out for? Doing what people with anxiety have to do every day. Look at themselves from the inside out, and even then, still decide to keep going with a vengeance.

  2. I like this comment. I really do, but at the same time I wish i didn't have to look at myself at all. :/

  3. crazy feels right to me...until it doesn't. ;)