Not Complete

When I first paid for this website back in January, I know I was in a manic phase. I was happy. I felt good. Unicorns and rainbows and all the good hugs. But the Universe always seems to have a strange way of making sure that I don’t get too uppity, so I didn’t know the next few months would bring anxiety attacks, and periods of terrible pain searing through my body so that I can’t move. It would bring me bills and rent that I can’t pay. A job that I got and then lost a month later. It would bring more tears than joy, but more than anything, it would bring anger. Just so much rage compressed inside. I feel like a ball of hate. I would say tiny, but I am fairly certain that, on top of everything else, I have gained a lot of weight.. Hooray depression and pain and not doing anything.. I could just put the fork down, right? But there is a certain amount of joy found in a goddamn cookie and right now, I will take that little joy.

So while I was hoping that perhaps this blog would be all uplifting and joyful, I just don’t have it in me right now. I have joy , don’t get me wrong. I find joy watching my children when they are actually getting along, when my son asks me to plug the Christmas lights that I have strung up above the bed on, and then says “Merry Christmas momma.” I find joy with every hug and kiss I get from my daughter. So no, I am not sitting here saying that all is hopeless and oh woe is me. That’s worthless and useless and doesn’t solve anything. But I have filtered all my depression and sadness into hate too. I want to be whimsical and fun but I hate the four walls around my. I am tired of sharing a 14’x20′ room with my two children. I hate that I am in debt to pretty much every single friend I have with no real plan on how to pay them back, let alone next months rent or bills, and I hate pretending that everything is fine. I hate that I have been in so much pain over the past week that I haven’t left my bed and have been perpetually high just to ease some of the pain.

I hate that when I try to tell doctors how I am feeling, they kind of just shrug it off and assume that I am trying to score pills. Spoiler alert: I’m not. I hate that I can’t find stable employment. I am thankful for my online work, but it was never meant to be primary employment, merely supplementary. I hate that my “husband” is incapable of finding a job… for like 5 years now. Somehow, filling out applications, making resumes and finding a job that he might enjoy is my responsibility too.

The bad days beat the good days.

Talk is cheap.

I’m tired of talk.



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