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.



I met with my counselor today (she really needs a name)… and it was interestsing how my post from yesterday fit in.   We finally finished up the intake questions today.  Now we can really “start”.

But she always gives me time at the start of our visit to just “let it all out”.  The things I just have to say.  And today one of the most pressing things was asking her why I ask people impossible questions.  And I think the question might have caught her off guard, but she said there’s a lot more to get into but one of her hypotheses is something called the Pain Body.  It’s something that a person named Eckhart Tolle came up with.

Here’s an excerpt from a website explaining it:

The usual pattern of thought creating emotion is reversed in the case of the pain-body, at least initially. Emotion from the pain-body quickly gains control of your thinking, and once your mind has been taken over by the pain-body, your thinking becomes negative. The voice in your head will be telling sad, anxious, or angry stories about yourself or your life, about other people, about past, future, or imaginary events. The voice will be blaming, accusing, complaining, imagining. And you are totally identified with whatever the voice says, believe all its distorted thoughts. At that point, the addiction to unhappiness has set in.

It is not so much that you cannot stop your train of negative thoughts, but that you don’t want to. This is because the pain-body at that time is living through you, pretending to be you. And to the pain-body, pain is pleasure. It eagerly devours every negative thought. In fact, the usual voice in your head has now become the voice of the pain-body. It has taken over the internal dialogue. A vicious circle becomes established between the pain-body and your thinking. Every thought feeds the pain-body and in turn the pain-body generates more thoughts. At some point, after a few hours or even a few days, it has replenished itself and returns to its dormant stage, leaving behind a depleted organism and a body that is much more susceptible to illness. If that sounds to you like a psychic parasite, you are right. That’s exactly what it is.

Now, I don’t know enough about this man to know if what he says is right.  I haven’t done nearly enough research to see where this aligns with my Christian beliefs.  BUT it makes sense to me.

I was telling hubby today, it’s like I don’t want to get better, like I don’t want to be happy.  I find ways to punish myself, ways to prove to myself I am unloveable (the impossible questions would fall in here).  I explained it like this- I asked my mother a question that had 3 obvious answers:

  1.  No I am not – to which I would think she is lying and doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.
  2. Yes I am – which would prove I am “bad” an “embarrassment”
  3. The answer she gave- which proves to me (even if she doesn’t mean it that way) that I am “bad”.

You see, there is no right answer.  In all those answers I am the bad one. I don’t want to be like my dad, and yet- and I struggle to make my fingers type this- I have been unpredictable mood wise, angry over little things, resentful.

My fingers shook as I typed that.  It’s an extremely hard truth to face. 

I am living in a constant state of self-inflicted pain, in response to the pain I have already suffered?  the pain I am afraid I will suffer? I don’t know. I don’t know why I do this to myself.  I don’t know why someone as intelligent and as insightful as me can let this go on.  Why in over a year I haven’t gotten any better, and when I do start to crawl out of the pit I am in do I fling myself to the bottom again as if I saw something shiny down there that I had to get.

And that right there, that’s what makes me angry all over again- angry at myself. But guess what- I won’t do anything to change any of it. Like I said it’s like I don’t want to get better.  My husband tells me this isn’t an option.  And I want to scream, “don’t you think if I knew how to do it differently I would?”.  But I am tired.  I am tired of fighting, of feeling sad, of being angry, of being so irritable to those who I love most.  It kills me that I am hurting those that are closest to me.

There are days, a lot of days, I think about just leaving.  The thought kills me.  I love my husband and children more than anything in the world, but I can’t stand to make them live in this upheaval.  Hubby would say that should be incentive enough to change.  But I honestly have been trying and I just can’t get off this merry-go-round…..

I don’t know just more thoughts floating through my head.

*** I found this article that talks about why Eckhart Tolle is not Christian, and in fact teaching anti-Christian things.  And I definitely agree with what they say- I haven’t read Tolle’s book and never planned to.  So what I would say is take the passage above at face value.  Look at it through the lens of Jesus.  Those who allow the “pain-body” to hurt continually hurt us, are letting the Enemy attack us, and we are believing his lies.  And it isn’t until we stand up to him with the Truth that we are able to kick him out of our heads- permanently or not just until next time he finds us weak….. ****

Anyway that’s my take away.  And I can get on board with that, the pain-body is Satan’s influence in my brain.  He makes me forget “it is finished”.  That I am redeemed, loved, chosen and all the other wonderful names Jesus has for me…… now how to get his voice out of my life forever.

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.

Need to recognize blessings….

I spent some time yesterday writing about the “shining” I don’t do. But I was remiss to mention that despite our differences, despite my mother being disappointed in me, despite my feelings of envy of my siblings. I love them. So much.  I don’t think it would matter to me so much what they think if I didn’t.

Today I asked my mom if she was going to get another goat when hers dies and one of her reasons for saying no was the goat may outlive her- her current goat is 14. My mom will be 65 this year. That would mean she expects to die by the time she’s 80? My grandmother lived to 85, my grand father 90.  And if she doesn’t come down with cancer like he did I see her living to her 90s as well… or at least I hope.  But I told her I wasn’t happy she said that.  As I was sitting at her table today looking at the pantry that enters into her den, I was almost not “there”.  I was sitting at that table, and people were walking around, with plates of food, dressed in black talking about how special she was…. that was an eerie feeling.  I don’t do funerals as I have mentioned before…. so there was the first “off thing” but to be sitting there and to have such a real intrusive thought enter your brain was hard.

We spent a lot of time today talking about looking back.  Looking back over our lives for regrets and things we are happy about…. I spent a lot of the day sad. Sad about what I coulda/woulda/shoulda done.  Sad that my time has “passed”.  At 40 there aren’t many big dreams you can make and achieve. I should be “coasting”now, but I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.


My dear brother has me hooked on a song by Ed Sheehan – Supermarket Flowers.  He wrote it for his grandmother who had recently passed. If you haven’t heard it, and are in the mood for a good ugly cry open youtube and have a listen.

When I hear the song I think about my mom. But I am not so sure it’s MY mom I am thinking about.  I think it’s partially her, and partially the mom I wish she was.  The mom who always picks you up when you fall.  Needless to say, every time I listen to it at the very least I get choked up, but usually I shed a few tears and often have a good ugly cry.

There is a line towards to the end of the song where he says:

You were an angel in the shape of my mum
You got to see the person that I have become

That bit of the song made me wonder every time. Obviously Ed’s grandmother had been proud of him, look at what he had accomplished.  But I wondered what my mom thought. My gut told me that I am an embarrassment.  On disability, poor, have mental illness, never finished college, never got that “big job”, never really did much with my life in term of success the way the world defines it. I have a husband who worked his butt off to support us for 20+ years, but then became disabled as well. We lost our house, our car.  We are not like anyone else in our family financially or career-wise.  My sister got a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree and became a dually licensed therapist, with her own practice and employees.  Her and her husband make a whole lot of money, and live a life where they don’t have to worry that the next time her kid grows out of sneakers it will break their budget beyond repair.  She is not obese, and she is “the pretty one”.   My brother is what I would consider a big whig at one of the largest banks in America.  He is extremely successful and has climbed the ladder at the company from the ground up.

So after weeks of wondering what my mom would say if I asked her about “the person I have become”.

So the other day, on a particularly sad day, I thought what the heck let’s make it worse and ask her.

Me: (8:00am) Please don’t call me back about this- I’ll cry and I’ve cried enough today- are you disappointed in the way my life has turned out?  Disappointed in who I became?

Mom: (2:07pm) Am I supposed to answer this? U said not to call you.

Me: (2:08pm) Yes you can text, just don’t call, if I hear your voice I’ll cry.

Mom: (2:11pm) No I am not disappointed in you. I am disappointed you don’t have the support you need to shine.


What does that mean?  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I can’t shake my feelings of sadness. My mom isn’t disappointed IN me, but she’s disappointed in my life.  She’s disappointed I don’t “shine” in her eyes.

Shine- what could I do that would make me shine in her eyes? Make lots of money? Have a really good job?  Have children without mental health issues? Not have mental illness myself?

I know at least a part of it she blames on my husband.  My sister, step-father and mother have all made comments over the years that make it obvious they don’t like certain things about him.  My step-father went so far as to say that my husband “mis-uses” me.

My husband doesn’t misuse me.  And it’s not his fault I don’t shine.  I made the choices that have made me who I am and if I don’t shine that’s on me.

I know I am fat and not as pretty as my sister. I got my dad’s genes, I was doomed before I was born.

I know I didn’t graduate college (not for poor grades or lack of funding – which my parents didn’t help me with AT ALL might I add) but because of different priorities- namely wanting to be a wife and mother.

I know we are poor and that’s an embarrassment. I know we drive beat up vehicles that are loud and ugly.

I know we don’t buy locally sourced organic food.

I know I don’t make my own soap, lotion, and deodorant.

I know we don’t grow 99% of what we eat.

I know that I have children with issues and I know you blame me and my parenting for them.  I swear if I could have done something that would have prevented, autism, bipolar, ADHD and anxiety I would have done anything. I would have traded my life for it, because my children will suffer their entire lives.

Shine.  The word just keep rolling over in my head.

I don’t shine… am I tarnished silver? That with a little polishing could shine again?  Am I a star that has lost it’s shine because it’s dying and it’s light is flickering?  Am I like flat or matte paint and no matter what I do, I will never become high-gloss?

I don’t think there was ever shine in me.  I think that shine was put out long before I ever became an adult.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I will never be someone my mom is proud of.  Ive talked to a friend and my husband about this, and they both tell me not to let it bother me.  My husband says it’s not an insult (sorry I don’t buy it).  My friend told me not to worry about it because she’s not the most supportive person in the world, and that money isn’t everything.  And yes she’s right.  But…


No matter how old you are you want your mother to love you, to be proud of you and to “be there”. No matter how old you get you want your mother.

I have had an extremely emotional week.  Not for any particular reason. I am just sad, and when I am not sad I am angry, frustrated or irritated.

Tomorrow I have to go to my mom’s.  My sister will be there too.  I offered to let my husband stay home.  He’s sore from falling down the stairs, and pretty much just from living and we both feel like he will be judged because of what he can and can’t do.  But the thought of going alone is terrifying.  I’m dreading it, I can’t wait for the day to be over- and it hasn’t even happened yet.

Well I guess that’s all, nothing really to say other than I am not doing well at all.



Memories- Things that sometimes remind me how lucky I am to have the life I have, problems and all.

I said a while back my goal for this year was to read 52 books. I am a little behind where I should be to meet my goal, but I am not really too concerned.

Today I finished Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell.  I cried at the end.  Holding back the ugly cry as best as I could because my little one was here and she always gets upset when I cry.  And I can’t honestly tell which tears were tears of sadness at the book, tears of happiness for how lucky I got, or tears of relief for the fact that I… that I got my cake and can eat it too.

Eleanor and Park is a book I assume set back in the 1980’s given the references they use and the words like “Walkman”, “mix tapes”, and so many other references .  Without spoiling the book for anyone who might want to check it out, Eleanor is a girl round the age of 16.  She lives in a house with her 4 siblings, her mom and her abusive step-father Richie.  She had been living away from them for about a year because Richie kicked her out, but she eventually was able to come home. She started back to school and immediately, on her first day, on the bus ride to school no less, people started picking on her- teasing her about her wild red hair, the way she dressed, because she wasn’t toothpick thin.

No one would let her sit with them on the bus, until finally a boy name Park told her to sit with him. It took a while for them to become friends, and even longer for them to be more than that.  Eleanor had so many walls up inside of her from being mistreated and unloved her entire life.

The book chronicles their journey in first love.  But this book also reminded me of my story.

I lived with my mom, my dad, my little sister, and my half brother (from time to time). My dad was a mean, cruel, controlling man.  He physically, mentally and emotionally abused all of us.  Even my poor brother when he would visit.

I also didn’t have many friends at school.  I was picked on through elementary school, junior high and high school.  I don’t look back on the times spent in school with fond memories.  Most of the time I think of the worst days of my life.  The days I would cry myself to sleep, the days I would try to make myself invisible- because if I was invisible they wouldn’t pick on me mercilessly.  I think of the fact I became anorexic and lost a huge amount of weight because maybe if I wasn’t “the fat girl” they would like me (they didn’t).  Maybe if I lost weight my dad would stop making fun of my size – he didn’t. It drove me into depression.  Into even worse anxiety, and into self harm.  I had a couple friends in high school, but I didn’t talk to them about my life at home.  There was one friend, I spent most weekends at her house for years.  For years I wished her parents would adopt me.  I wanted her life.  Her house was my safe haven.

Until I saw him.  Somehow I knew the evening I saw him in my high school cafeteria, that it would all be ok, somehow. We became friends, then more. I was desperate for him.  I craved his love.  I couldn’t breathe without thinking of him.  He made my life worth it.  He loved me, unconditionally.  I had never had that before.  He saved me from my father, from my tormentors, from myself.  People still made fun of me, be sure of that, but it didn’t matter so much.  I had someone who loved me, all of me, battle scars, bruises and all.

We were almost immediately inseparable. The friends we each had felt displaced, but we just couldn’t stand to be apart.  It didn’t help we went to different schools, but we saw each other as much as humanly possible.  We talked about everything.  He knew everything about my past, things I had never told anyone.  I shared my hopes and dreams with him- dreams that somehow included him the minute we met.

People thought we were too much.  Too obsessed. Spent too much time together.  We were just “infatuated”.  But we knew; we knew even then that we would be together till death do us part.

And now, almost 23 years later, I still have all those scars, all those bruises, and some new ones, but he still loves me.  I loves me 100+ pounds heavier, when I’m sometimes broken, when I’m sometimes angry (at life really), when I am envious of others and their apparent lack of bruises and brokenness. He loves me with the purest, most unconditional life I have ever experienced in my life.

I still need him.  I am still desperate for him.  I still crave his constant companionship. And while our life hasn’t turned out exactly as we planned I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  He is my best friend, he is my first real love, the first person who really SAW, the real me, not the person I show the world I am.

Sometimes I think back to the nights we were teenagers making plans for our future, despite everyone telling us we would never last.  Telling us we were just kids. Yes, we were just kids, only a couple years older than our oldest is now, but the minute we saw each other we realized we completed each other.

What does all this have to do with the book?  There were so many similarities between Eleanor and Park and my husband and I.  Reading through it, brought up so many memories and feelings. I don’t think I have related to a character in a book like I related to Eleanor- ever.

This book definitely gets four stars from me. How could it not?

Best year ever?

I was looking on Amazon and tonight or I guess since it’s 2 AM this morning, at planners. I have two planners downstairs for 2018 and I just can’t bring myself to use either of them I don’t like either of them. I like my 2017 planner it had coloring pages, it was spiral-bound, I just liked it.

Then I decided I was going to do bullet journaling. I bought a bullet journal, I’ve watched a ton of YouTube videos have a very large Pinterest board dedicated to bullet journaling, but as the new year grew closer I realized I would never keep up with it, it’s just too much work.

Hence my search tonight on Amazon. And I came across a planner that had “Best Year Ever” on the cover. I stared at it for a long time and just couldn’t wrap my head around it… best year ever? There’s no way. Will it beat 2017? I sure as heck hope so, but best year ever? What about the year I met my husband? Or the year my son was born, or the year my daughter was born?

Why would I buy that? Some people might think it’s thinking positively- but I think it’s setting unrealistic expectations of the coming year that can only serve as another avenue of disappointment.

My goals for 2018 are simple-

1. Make it till 2019

2. Read 52 books

3. Do my quiet time at least 300 times. When I am closer to Jesus, and reading His word, I am a better me.

Well I guess that’s all. This will likely be the last post of 2017, and all I can say as 2017 closes is – “don’t let the door hit you on the way out. ” Let’s hope 2018 is at least marginally better. But if I’m being totally honest I don’t hold a lot of hope- I turn 40 this year. I’m dreading it. My birthdays always suck, I’m the biggest I’ve ever been, there is always drama with my father, and my kids are growing up. 2018 brings 15 and 8. I don’t have babies anymore. I’ll never have babies anymore. That part of my life is over- and I’m not ready.

But when I think of 3am feedings, sleepless nights and colic- I remember the bad parts of babyhood… besides I’ve had a hysterectomy- so it’s not in my future. I need to find a life. But I guess I need to figure out my identity first…. I e got a lot of work to do.