What are you going to do?

What are you going to do?

What’s your plan after graduation?

And what are you going to do with your degree?

I get asked that question so much.  Too much.  I want to scream at everyone that I have no clue.  I had no clue when I was eighteen years old and in college and I have no idea now…. maybe even less of an idea.  I am forty-one years old and I have no idea who I am.

Graduation… ah graduation.  18 days away and I literally feel like no one cares. My inlaws doted on my husband all weekend, acting like he was made of glass because of “all the work” he had been doing for school;  My mother in law narrowing her eyes at me asking what I have been doing to be so tired.  As if I hadn’t been up until 3am every night for the past 3 months trying to stay on top of a workload I can’t handle. I am so tired I can barely function.  I am so overwhelmed I waffle from angry to so sad it’s unbearable. And graduation? Well my husband and “so busy” he can’t make it a priority to schedule 2 hours into his day to watch the children so I can pick up my cap and gown.  My mother HAS to go camping – unless there is an issue with her calf that’s to be born that will keep her home that weekend- why even bother.  No one cares- Im not even sure if I do.  I mean what I care about is the fact that no one seems to care.  I know my sister probably won’t make the trip up, she will have just made the trip the weekend before, and I am not reminding my mother in law she just ruins every day she’s around anyway.  Maybe I just won’t go.  Why would I want to waddle up the stage round faced in front of everyone anyway.  Besides I made this really cute countdown, and now, it’s gone.  It was on my shelf next to my desk, and it’s disappeared, maybe it’s a sign.

The evil gremlin inside me is trying to convince me to not do anymore work in my classes, to just not finish to get what I get for grades… It sounds so inviting.  I just want to go to bed and never get out of it again.

Yup, I am feeling sorry for myself again this is why I hardly write anymore, I feel like no one wants to read about some whiney American forty-something woman who can’t seem to get her life together and stop feeling like shit.

 

Posts I never post….

Do you ever pour your heart out into a post and never post it? Just save it to a draft and stuff the feelings down? I do.

Where have I been?

Well, where HAVE I been? Trudging along; one baby step in front of the next.

I have more on my plate than I can possibly handle and it’s rearing it’s ugly head in my life in ways that increase my symptoms. I fly off the handle, constantly, at those who I love most. I’m tired. My feelings toward myself are the lowest they’ve been in a while.

I lose my patience with everyone- especially my children. And then I hate myself. I try so hard, do so well then become unraveled at bedtime and become a tyrant.

So many days I want to just pack up and leave. I’ve thought a lot about that in the past week. I suck at taking care of people, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better

I just went back and read the last post I wrote, and I’m stuck there. I’m still thinking about “shining” every.single.day. And the closer we get to the anniversary of my “breakdown” the more edgy I get.

There have been some issues with little one at school and I find myself in the middle of a battle with the School AGAIN. And that brings my PTSD screaming back like a maniac which puts me in fight or flight with the very people I’m trying to help.

I’m useless. I say hurtful things. That’s the hardest part. That’s the part that makes me just want to lay in the road and die. I’m just a failure- just like my family believes- they’ve always been right about me- I should just accept it.

Broken…. A Poem

Please, don’t judge, there is really no structure to this poem, but it’s not a story, or a “post”.  But tonight was a really bad night, and I let my pen just scrawl along. 

Broken.

I feel the familiar “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh” of the blood in my ears.

My heart is racing, pulse is 120.

There’s a buzzing in my body.

I’m sweating, everywhere, even my legs.

My brain is going to dark, dark, places.

I want to see the red blood coming out of my arms.

I want to see the raised skin of the scratch.

I want to feel the sting and burn of the cuts.

I want my brain to stop.

FAT, UGLY, HIDEOUS, GROSS.

Bad mom, yeller, ineffective.

Bad wife, “makes” hubby do all the cooking and clean

up from meals, undermines his discipline.

LOSER, CAN’T FINISH ANYTHING, STUPID

Will never change.

Always a victim.

Don’t SHINE, am a disappointment.

Not good enough, NEVER enough.

Undermines my own dreams.

I sit, tears brimming, threatening to spill over.

I sit at my desk all the things I used to use to cut at my disposal.

But I can’t cut, no matter how much I want to, I’m on blood thinners. I don’t want to ruin my kids’ life any more than I already have.

So I push it down, down, down.  The whooshing, shaking, and sweating gets worse. My head pounds too.

How long can I do this? How long will I have to do this?

No one is going to save me, or the little girl inside.  Together we will drown and choke on our labels; the labels of rejection and the labels we give ourselves.  Never truly happy; never truly whole—

Broken.

HOT HOT HOT

It is SO HOT here this week.  Normally heat doesn’t bother me, I don’t know if my meds are affecting things, or what but this is crazy.  Absolutely nuts. I am so hot, hubby is hot, big one is hot.  Which makes for an interesting dynamic because we are all grumpy.

We don’t have air conditioning, it’s a waste of money since in our area we have less than a week with unbearable temperatures. So we just have to ride it out, and pray no one kills the other 😉

I wish my hair was longer though.  It’s just too short to put in a ponytail, and just too long to not be on my neck making me even hotter. I bought some head wrap things to use but when I take it off I look like a crazy person- on second thought maybe that fits me just right ;).

I just finished book 2 in a series that Richard Paul Evans has written- the first book is The Broken Road, the second is The Forgotten road, and when I got to the end it left me on a cliffhanger and book three The Road Home won’t be out until Spring 2019!!!! I was grrrrrr but it’s something to look forward to.

I am now reading a book “Surprise Me” which is good so far- though a little slow to start and listening to America’s First Daughter, about Them Jefferson’s daughter.  I just started last night but I found it very difficult to fall asleep because it was so good!

I’ve read 35 books since January 1st, so if you are looking for recommendations hit me up.  And if you have any recommendations please leave them in the comments.  I don’t like anything scary or bodice ripping romance.

Until next time….

Disruption…

Nothing has changed in 23 years. Back then I was the disruption to my husband’s family. I was the one ruining it. I was told time and time again. At one point fairly early into our relationship, sometime after we were engaged but nowhere near our wedding, I tried to end it. If I was ruining his life I wanted to fix it… In the parking lot of a grocery store, I tried to end things and give him back the ring. I’ve never seen him more sad, and more hurt. He made me promise to never do that again. He assured me I wasn’t ruining their family.

If you looked at highlight reels from 1995 to 2018 you would see all the times I was a disruption, not good enough, not good enough wife, not good enough hostess, not a good enough mother to stop autism, ADHD, anxiety, bipolar in my kids…. the list goes on. But tonight my husband was told “mental illness is a ‘disruption'” specifically my mental illness. And I should be better now.

What? Like it’s that easy? I snap my fingers and I’m cured! But I don’t, so I must like being like this. Like not wanting to ever leave the house, like sleeping all day, like being stuck in OCD loops and feeling out of control. I must like being so sick of germs I’m afraid to hug my kids, or let them sit with me in my chair. Yes I enjoy it all… could you all feel the sarcasm dripping there?

It’s always been about this person, it will always be about this person and I will never measure up. This person has always known just where to sucker punch me.