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 now...at 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 you...is 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."

The calm after the storm?

This is what I'm hoping for. We were hit with a freak October Storm that pretty much put the whole area out of commission for about 5 days. For me personally, it basically cancelled out most of the work I had put in for the past two weeks to come up with the money I need to file my bankruptcy case.  The lesson here?  I don't know. Hard work doesn't always pay off...because Mother Nature is a bitch?  There's nothing I can do but start again. That unfortunately doesn't do anything to lessen the stress. And my stress level at this point is...unmanageable. I need to get this taken care of. I can't go 30 minutes throughout my day without the phone ringing. A constant reminder. But when you only have about 200 dollars a month to spare providing nothing else comes up...it take a really fucking long time to come up with 2000 dollars. Unless of course you work day and night. And if you work day and night, nothing else will ever get done.

 My hair is falling out again. I'm finding it everywhere. It's all over the floor. It's in my car. It's on the outside of my car. It's even in the fridge. I've had three periods in six weeks. If that's what they are. My hormones are out of control.  My doctor has me on medicine that only makes me feel worse. It's obvious I need to reduce the stress. But all of this shit that is happening to me physically because of the stress...well...it's also adding to the stress. I'm like a fucking hampster on the wheel. I keep running and running and I'm not getting anywhere.

So...here I sit. Three vodka drinks down and one to be made soon. It's the only thing that helps. And right now I need help. Tomorrow I can start again. Maybe the bleeding will stop. Maybe my hands won't be full of hair when I take a shower.  Maybe tomorrow I won't feel like smashing my head into a brick wall.

This is what I'm hoping for.

Hope, who is now on her way to make that fourth drink.

The blog I was going to write.

I was going to blog today.  I had something to say, or at least, I thought I did. But now I don't think so. You ever get to the point where you've done all you could and you just can't do anymore? I'm there. Everything comes full circle whether you want it to or not. Everything that starts eventually stops. What goes up must come down. And so on. Fuck it. I'm tired. Fuck the dishes and the laundry and the dolls and eBay and the Lawyer and my body and my mind and all the other shit I'm supposed to care about.

I'm going to do what I want. I want to talk to somebody. I want to talk to somebody who looks me in the eyes and hears what I have to say. I want a massage. I want to take a break and eat lunch. I want to laugh. I want to have fun. I want to feel like it matters.

Hope, who is taking a much deserved break from giving a shit.

Snapshot...

So yesterday I'm at the store checking out... I won't say which one... only that it rhymes with Shwalmart. 

I swipe my card. Beep!  Error. Cancel.

I swipe my card again. Beep! Error. Shit. Cancel.

Cashier: " Oh...dats ok. Machine mess up. I swipe card."

I hand her my card.

Cashier: " Oh. Ok. Dis a Credit?"

Me: "No. It's a Debit."

Cashier: "Credit?"

Me: "No. It's a Debit."

Cashier: (looks at card) "Dis card?  Dis card is a Credit."

Me. "No. It's a Debit. You can run it as a Debit."

Cashier: "Oh. A debit? Oh...I..."

Me: "YES. It's a debit!"

Cashier: "Oh. Ok. I dunno...I run as debit...but..."

SWIPE! Beep!  Enter Pin.

Thank you for shopping.

Hope, who probably should have gone to Target.

Ch...Ch...Ch...Ch...Changes.

Bowie didn't know what he was waiting for. Me neither. Change is a funny thing. All at once it can be both good and bad. It can positive and negative. It can cause pain and happiness. At times we struggle with it, fight against it even, and at times we crave it. In my own life it often seems that the things I want to change never do, and things I wish would stay the same, always change. That's the way it seems. But the truth is...everything changes. Even if we don't notice.

I'm going to switch it up a little today and take some sound and solid advice from the Serenity Prayer. I'm going to accept the things I cannot change and somehow work up the courage to change the things I can. And that wisdom thing...well...hopefully I have enough. I have only one goal in mind in doing this. I want to feel better.

And I will.

On a lighter note...My son woke me up at 2:30 am last night claiming he was hearing voices and could he just stay up and play the Wii?  Ummm...no. And...what kind of voices?  Apparently he asked a woman if he could have some bandages and she said... "Sure, take some."  Huh. I'm okay with that. She sounds nice...now back to bed.

Hope, who has turned and faced the strain.

Dear Insomnia...

Welcome back. It's been a while since I've spent so many quiet hours in the darkness listening to everyone else sleep. I'm sure you're back for a reason and I'm sure I know what it is.

So, here I am. I'm up. I've made the coffee and given up the tossing and turning. You win. Now what?  Now I write?  I suddenly feel like I've been hurled back in time...10, 15, 20 years. And here I am, again. Doing what I do, in order to keep myself from going mad. This seems to be the only reason I write anything at all. Ever. When things are going smooth or I am at peace I don't write anything. I don't even have the urge most times. Lucky (or unlucky) for me I have four blogs and several boxes filled with old journals to prove that I haven't been at peace very often.  That would have to be the way of it, wouldn't it?  I guess it's no accident that some of the best writers were either menatally ill or alcoholics.

Anyway. I don't expect to write anything good tonight/this morning...whatever the hell it is. I'm just, like I said, trying to keep from going mad. Have you ever stumbled across something by accident. Something you probably weren't supposed to see? Well for me, that hardly ever happens. Mostly because I don't stumble. I look. I look, and I look and in the end I usually find. But this time I wasn't looking, and it kind of threw me for the proverbial loop. So to speak. And then some. And so on. Blah, blah, blah.

And here I am. Left alone, in the dark, with my own thoughts. Racing thoughts, mind you, which are probably the fastest racing thoughts on the track. And as if the speed alone weren't enough, they also twist and turn around corners and ride up and down hills. It's like a god damn amusement park in my head. And yet, it is far from amusing.

So, yeah. Here I am. What I would love. Just absolutely love...would be sleep, of course...but after that...I would love to wake up different. To wake up as someone who just doesn't care enough to let things bother her. Someone who is at peace and let's all the shit just roll off her shoulders. (as opposed to having it take up residence there.)  I want to feel calm, secure, safe. I don't want to always have to have my guard up. To constantly be waiting for other shoe to drop. I don't. I really, fucking don't. But that won't happen today. Not just because I'm not going to sleep but because I think when it happens I will hear a snap. And I haven't heard it yet.

See? This is the kind of shit I write after no sleep. My arm is twitching from typing at a weird angle and my shoulders have tensed up again. Worrying about things I don't neccessarily need to worry about  is automatic for me. "It's in her nature", they said when I was a child. Maybe so. Not believing people when they say I should, or I can, is also a knee jerk reaction. But let's face it...when everyone who's ever said they would never leave has...what do we really have to base our trust on. I know, somewhere deep down in the rational side of my brain, that this is very juvenile and retarded way to think, and react, and feel. I KNOW that. And yet, like I said, it's pretty fucking automatic. 

Okay. So, let's see. It's almost time for more coffee, I guess. I could probably put the news on and get lost, momentarily, in the disasters of the world. Or I could watch a show on the DVR about some made up disaster. Either sounds more welcoming that sitting here in the one of my own making. So, I guess I'll do that. Until next time...

Hope, who doesn't know exactly how much time she has left, but does know she doesn't want to waste another minute of it feeling like this.

Who I am.

I know who I am. And it's not always pretty. In fact, it rarely is. I'm not supposed to say that though. I'm not supposed be so damn negatitive. Fuck you. I'm being a realist.

I don't "go through" things with other people. I've heard it said, although I'm still not sure what it means...that so and so "went through" something together. It brought them closer. They bonded. It made them stronger. Blah, blah, blah. I don't do that. I go through everything alone. I'm sure that is mostly my own fault, but in any case that's the way it is.

I know who I am. I'm almost forty and in the worst financial shape of my entire life. I'm scrambling to try save up the money to file bankruptcy before the credit card companies start suing me. It's not working out too well because at the same time I'm trying to live. Trying to enjoy a few moments here and there in what is normally an uncertain and stressful existance. I'm also trying to do things like buy my son eye glasses, and legos, and gold fish for his lunch box. It's a slow process and just when I think I'm doing well...I'm not. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty, single mother of a great son who can't hide the fact that he'd rather be with his Daddy. And why not?  His Daddy works when it's time for work. When Jack isn't there. His Mommy has to work all the damn time. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he'd rather be with the parent that will focus all his attention on him. The guilt is sometimes all consuming and while I know that when he is older he will only remember and cherish the times I played with him, and not the time I worked to buy him food or clothes...I still have no choice but to work and buy him food and clothes. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an anxiety ridden, almost forty year old who has absolutely no handle on the situation. No one in my life has ever understood this in a way that was helpful. People tell me to relax. Like that was an actual option. Like I'm given a choice between the two and I choose anxiety and panic attacks instead of a calm cool existance. Fuck them. The ignorance makes me angry. I'm trying to do what I can to make this better but it only seems to be getting worse. Taking medicine only reminds me that I'm failing. When the medicine doesn't work it only reminds me that I'm still sinking. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty year old woman with absolutely no coping skills when it comes to relationships. They wreck me. Some worse than others. I have trust issues. If you lie to me, I then have trust and anger and fear issues. Having something is harder for me than having nothing. When you have nothing you have nothing to lose. Nothing to fear. I have comminication issues, where in, I say too much. Always. I say more than anyone ever wants to hear. In return I get silence. Which in turn scares me. Because there is often more meaning in silence than in any amount of words that could be spoken. I don't know how to deal with the things that scare me. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty year old, decendant of a long line of self destructive alcoholics. I walk that line every day.  I use it as a place to hide. I use it as an excuse to run away. I use it to stop my hands from shaking and to forget about the bills I owe and to cope with all that I can't cope with. I know where that road leads. I see my mother when I look in the mirror.  I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty year old woman who's hormones have apparently all boarded the crazy train, and who, according to her doctor, is most likely perimenopausal.  I was also told today to stop smoking before I "hurry up and die of cancer"...and that I'll be getting a mammogram in January, along with another biopsy. 

And I go through this alone.
And that, in a nutshell, is who I am. There's more sometimes, but right now, that is all that I am.

Hope, who was quite obviously not able to stand it.