Broke, broken, all the same to me.

I feel like a broken record when I come here and post.  I feel tired, that bone weary weighing you down tired.  I am sick of being broke.  I am sick of everything being so hard all the time.  I am tired of life in general. I am sick of being me.  We have 3 beater cars, all in terrible shape, and no money to fix them, but the are necessary to get to all our appointments etc.  I feel like we are never going to get out of this mess we are in.

Hubby talked to a lawyer last week and he said he couldn’t help him, but referred him to another firm that probably could.  That lawyer was supposed to call Friday, today at the latest…. no call. Of course.  This is just another hit.

I literally feel like I am being beaten with a baseball bat- thwap hit to the back, thwap hit to the gut, thwap to the legs and I fall, thwap, thwap, thwap.  I feel beaten and broken. I don’t know how much more I can take.  I know people say that all the time, but I am just so beat down.

We are due for a 2 day winter storm starting tomorrow- they already cancelled my counseling appointment for tomorrow morning, and I needed that SO BAD.  I have med management tomorrow afternoon and I am worried they will cancel that too.

Well I have to get my kids to bed so I can mope in peace.


I’ve been doing my best to “hide” at home leaving only when I HAVE to. I legitimately do not understand why people have such a fit over that. Why do I have to go to social events if they are only going to make me feel worse? Why do I have to be around others (even friends and family) when I’m just going to have to pretend all is well when it really is anything but? Why is it so bad to close myself off from a world that’s harsh, bright, and cruel at times?

As long as I am fulfilling my obligations to my appointments and my kids appointments, then I think I should be able to hide in my house where I’m comfortable, where the germs are my own and my family’s, where I don’t have to paste on a smile and pretend everything is “ok”.

So does anyone know “why”?

A Memory….

I have spent a lot of time thinking about the text I sent to my mother asking her if she was disappointed in me, and her answer.  And it’s brought up a lot of feelings, and memories.

I spent most of my childhood, trying to please people (heck if I am honest I have spent most of my adulthood doing the same thing).  I have to be the rescuer, if I help people, they will love me.  If I do this or that they will be proud of me- and love me.

When I was little I loved to sing.  I watched Star Search faithfully.  I wanted to be a singer when I grew up.  I wish I could say that people forgot to tell me I wasn’t very good- because they did tell me.  My parents told me I wasn’t good enough for Star Search.  The kids at school made it obvious.  I have never lost my love of singing.  I sing everything.  All the time.  But I am very conscious about who hears me.  I haven’t forgotten that I am no good at it. Even at church my worship is muted.

When I was ten years old as a family we went on a Caribbean cruise my dad won as a bonus from work. It was an amazing trip for a 10 year old.  I have some really good memories from that week, but I also have some very sad, dark moments from that trip.  And the more I think about the trip the more it’s marred by these memories that pop up… But only one of those moments is what I wanted to write about today.

The cruise was full.  Looking at the capacity of the ship online, there was over one-thousand people on the boat. Every night there was entertainment.  One night it was advertised there would be a talent show.  I secretly registered.  I didn’t tell my mom until just before we left the cabin for the show and I didn’t tell my dad until I was called up on stage. It was a disaster, I looked out into the audience and I froze, I missed start, and started behind the band.  I was off-key.  Since I didn’t start on time the band ended before I had sung the entire song.

Over the years it became a big joke in my family that I had done this.  My off-key singing, my exit off the stage to tell them I hadn’t finished, my deer in the headlights look as the music started.  All a big joke.  But what I wanted most of all from all of that?  My parents to be proud of me.  If you were to ask them- they’d say they were, they told me they couldn’t believe I would do that in front of so many people.  But they still made fun of me.  The mixed messages over the years has made it one of the single most embarrassing moments in my entire life. Instead of me feeling a sense of pride, instead of remembering my parents being proud, I remember them telling people about it, and getting a good laugh at my goof ups.  I can’t even tell you how many people they relayed the story to over the years in such a way that made me want to crawl under a rock.  Everything I tried to do that I messed up on became fodder not just for the kids at school, but by my own family.  It’s just another memory of not being good enough.  I think about it whenever I sing.

It’s no wonder I don’t take risks.  I don’t do anything unless I know I will be successful.  I don’t do anything that I might make a mistake at.  People will laugh.  People will make fun. People will remember.  Remind me of my grandmother.  My dad’s mother and I were close.  She was the one person that loved me best.  And loved me just the way I am.  I had a poster in my room that she loved, and I gave to her on one of her visits.  It was a monkey, and under him said “when I do right no one remembers, but when I do wrong- no one forgets”. Truer words were never spoken.

While my love of singing hasn’t left my heart, I’d rather die than sing in front of people unless they are the people closest to me in the world- and I will join in with others in public, but I won’t belt it out- that 10 year old girl reminds me every time I open my mouth to sing that people will ridicule me…..

Social Media

A couple months ago, I don’t know maybe back in October or so, I took a break from Facebook, I was finding myself feeling more and more envious, more and more depressed, more and more resentful, of the things I was seeing on my newsfeed.  People’s highlight reels were making my behind the scenes look like a hot mess, made me feel even more poor than we are, even more like I was failing my children.

Then come around Christmas – maybe before- I reactivated my account.  I was ok for a little while.  It was nice to see what was going on with my friends and family again.  But then the feelings started creeping back in.  The jealousy, the resentment, the envy, the sadness.

Today I was scrolling through my newsfeed, and I found myself LOOKING for things to make me feel those feelings.  Looking at specific people’s newsfeeds knowing what I saw would make me sad or jealous, or resentful.  I don’t understand why.  Why do I go to places I know will made me hurt?  Am I a sadist?  Do I want to hurt? Do I want to be sad?

This weekend little one is away at her grandparents’ house. Big one is home, and we had a huge blowout this morning, of course.  Hubby and I should go on a date, we talked about it, we didn’t find a movie we wanted to see, but after the news of the disability- we just didn’t feel like it.  We watched some tv- Community and then I slept for a good portion of the afternoon- even though I slept till 9:40 this morning, and had slept 8.5 hours last night.

I wish I wanted to go out.  I wish I wanted to do something fun.  I wish I knew what I would enjoy.  My 40th birthday is coming up.  Before the disability thing I told hubby I wanted to do something memorable- I didn’t know what, but something special and memorable, because I am dreading it I wanted to make it special.  But now, we don’t have the money to do anything at all, and I am remembering that every birthday is a shit show.  So now I told hubby I don’t want to do anything, I don’t want to even celebrate at all.  If we stay home, and half-assed celebrate, it will just be “sad”.  So I would rather just let it go.  I don’t want to turn 40 so let’s let the day pass without fanfare.  Why don’t I want to turn forty?  Because to me it feels “old”.  It feels like my life is closer to being over than not.  It feels like it’s too late for any dreams.  It’s too late to make enough changes that I could have the life I want.  I know some people disagree, but from where I am standing my life outlook looks pretty bleak.


So tired

I am not talking about physically tired- though I guess I am that too- I am talking about a weariness that has settled deep into my soul.  A bone crushing exhaustion that comes from years of fighting.

I am tired of everything always being so hard.   I understand we all have our crosses to bear, our difficulties to get through, but anyone who knows us can and will tell you that we have had more than our fair share.  We have had to fight and jump hurdles for the past 20+ years.  My dad said tonight (when I told him hubby was denied disability and now we have to hire a lawyer) that we are going to get tired of jumping over hurdles.  My response to him was “Dad, I am already tired of jumping over hurdles I am crawling under them”

I have spent most of the week oscillating between angry/irritated and sad, not just sad, I don’t even know what the word is.  That word that means that everything and anything can make you cry.  I used to never cry, now I cry every single day.  It can be a song, it can be the way someone says something to me, it can be anything at all.  I am so tired of being so unhappy all the time.

Will it ever get better, because from this vantage point, I don’t feel like it will ever get any better- ever….

Life block?

I started a post last night about why I haven’t written much lately, but it isn’t so much that I haven’t written lately, it’s not writer’s block- it’s life block.  I am barely living my life.  I am not someone I have ever been, or ever dreamed I would be. Part of me wants to be curled up in bed, or watching TV or reading.  And part of me looks at that part of me with disgust.

That part of me, looks at me and how I am living my life right now and wants to scream “wake the hell up”.  You have two wonderful children- yes they have issues, but they are amazing human beings.  Stop yelling at them for making messes, for wanting to play with slime, for being a typical teenager with earbuds in.  You have an amazing husband who stands by you no matter what.  He’s picked up the cooking when you dropped it, he doesn’t feel well either and yet he humor’s your breakdown.  He listens to every bit of whining you do about your past, or how you look, or how much this isn’t the life you dreamed of.  This isn’t the life he dreamed of either.  He didn’t expect to be unable to work at 38 years old.  He didn’t expect to have to depend on the “system”, he expected to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps, and work hard all his life, to come home and be a jack of all trades, to be able to take vacations, and be able to do things he wanted to do.  That part of me, looks at me with disgust and disappointment.  Thinks I am selfish.  Hates me.  That part of me knows I am a disappointment to my family, that I have never done anything or accomplished anything.

And that part of me? Hates all of me.  Hates itself for not being stronger, for not being able to “snap out of it”.

I want so badly to wake up tomorrow and to smile, to be thankful for another day, to get up  and make breakfast, happily get my kids ready for school, or better yet still be homeschooling them, to cook my husband a good meal at dinner time.  To be the fun mom that makes slime, that let’s them cook in the kitchen and make a mess.  The mom who understands that her teenager pushing her away isn’t about her, that it’s about growth and independence.

But instead I am trapped in a prison of my own construct.  No matter how much I WANT to snap out of it, I can’t. I have mental illness.  It’s not laziness, it’s not weakness, it’s not selfishness.  It’s just as real as a physical illness.  I KNOW this is my logical mind.  In the part of my mind that Mary Poppins would say my insight lives.  But I can’t seem to accept any truth where I am not at fault for everything.

Another reason I haven’t written is that I just don’t seem to be able to muster up the energy most days.  For some reason that is unfathomable to me, February was a crazy stupidly busy month.  And what 2 years ago I would have scoffed at and completed with ease, makes me need a long nap.  My counselor and I were talking today about the fact that I am just drained all the time, I am grumpy and irritable, I have no hobbies anymore – even the thought of taking out my knitting needles makes me tired.  She told me about the “spoon theory”.  She explained it that we have a certain number of spoons everyday, and as a person with my mental illness has fewer spoons that someone without it.  So where someone without mental illness can get up at 6am, shower, get their kids off to school, make breakfast and maybe work out and only use a spoon, me just thinking about getting up out of bed to face another day uses a spoon.  And showering uses a spoon or two.  That by the end of the day I don’t have any spoons left.  So true. The only reason I have the energy to write all this out today is that I took a nap already, and I am home alone.  Hubby has taken little one to occupational therapy, and big one is still at school.  No one needs me at the moment.

Last night I was laying in bed thinking about how hubby has to take little one to occupational therapy and maybe I should surprise him and make dinner.  I want to do that so much, but just thinking about the work it will take makes me exhausted.  I am going to try.  Even though everything I cook lately comes out terribly, even though it will wear me out.  Sometimes I think I don’t express enough gratitude for all the does for us.  He is the unsung hero, here in the family, holding us up, when he himself can barely stand.   So while he might not be able to work, he is providing something so much more important than financial support, he is carrying the weight of it all on him. I will never be able to pay him back for all he does.  I just wish my family could see the tremendous amount he contributes to our lives.  I wish they would look at him the way I look at him and see a hero.

I’ve been thinking….

I have been thinking a lot lately that I don’t recognize who I am anymore.  I have become the grouchiest, most irritable person there is.  I get upset at the littlest thing.  I use language that I don’t approve of nor do I normally use.  My family is the main target of my grouchiness, and my angry outbursts it’s not usually directed at them, it’s my frustration with other things- like tonight that my shelf next to my chair needed to have the books taken off because it was too heavy for the old plaster walls.  I was slamming things around, grouching and grumbling that I can never have anything that I want etc etc etc.

I am tired of being someone I don’t recognize, but it’s almost like I don’t have control over myself. It’s like I am Bruce Banner.  And I have become very selfish.  I don’t feel like I have anything that’s “mine” any space that’s “mine”.   Every space that I have tried to set aside for me and my “bubble” gets taken over.  I need space. I need somewhere to go and escape.

Growing up I had a friend, and her mom had her own room.  I don’t know the exact specifics of why, but I didn’t understand at the time.  But now, I understand- at least in my own way.  I want a room of my own.  I obviously still want to share a room with my husband, but I want a room where I can keep my books, my sewing and knitting stuff, a room I can go to to escape when I am feeling like the Hulk wants to rip himself out of my body.

I don’t know that I can make any changes.  I don’t know that I can find a place in my house and make it mine.  Maybe it’s selfish.  But then again- my kids have the toy room, and their bedrooms.  They take over the living room until they go to bed.  And hubby, right now he doesn’t have any special rooms, and he doesn’t complain- I know he wants a workshop but he doesn’t get all pissy about it. I thought about making the school room a library/sewing room, but realize how much work that would take to do- so much to sort and sell….  Then I think I should just get rid of all my books, and just keep what’s on my kindle app, and be done with it.

It seems like every day I come up with a “dream” or something that I want to do, or get or whatever.  And I told hubby today that I need to stop dreaming, I need to stop wishing.  Maybe that will make me happier- if I just accept that this is as good as it gets and be done with it.