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…..

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 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.


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.


What’s wrong with me?

So I mentioned my newest diagnosis, and I mentioned that I weaned off the amitriptyline in hopes that would help with the symptoms of the Autonomic Nervous System Disorder. However, it didn’t help.  And they have started me on a new antidepressant- Doxepim. I am on a very low dose. And ever since we have started the Doxepim 10 days ago I have been angry, irritable, sad, frustrated. I haven’t been the nicest person, nor the easiest to be around.

I am unhappy.  I am not content.  I am tired of living hand to mouth with no end in sight. I am on disability, my husband is waiting for his disability decision.  We will never have financial security.

And it really ticks me off that you can’t be honest with even your therapist or else she thinks you are on foot in the grave to offing yourself. So I am resentful- of pretty much everything and everyone in my life (with a few exceptions).  I am tired of this life.  So yes I fantasize about ways I could die.  Today’s version in my head has me walking out to the car, slipping on the ice, hitting my head and never “coming to” again.  But I can’t tell anyone that, they try to make me think “positive”, “look for the blessings”, and to that I say (and please let me warn you have to take off my Christian hat for a minute) go to hell. Seriously.  Shut up and leave me alone.  Just go away. Leave me alone with my intrusive, unhealthy thoughts. I don’t think I want to change right now. I think I am better off being miserable, because my life sucks, period, end of story.

And then. Then… get this. I get a call from my PCP’s office.  From “my doctor’s” nurse (I have been seeing a different doctor in the office.  And she says “we got the results of your halter and you had a normal rhythm with some extra beats here and there, but it was essentially normal ok?”.  And I was like ACTUALLY…I was in there last week, and Dr so and so, read the draft report and reported that my heart rate was 150 several times, and ranged from 120-150 most often.  And that my diastolic blood pressure is ranging from 87-117 and she diagnosed me with Autonomic Nervous System Dysfunction. And she’s like oooooh yeah I see that here.  Dr PCP may not had seen that before this came across his desk.  And then she proceeded to explain to me how to increase the meds etc. UM HELLO I thought you said I was fine?  Yeah I know Dr PCP blames it all on the fact that I am fat. This is also the same PCP that said a vitamin D level of 15 was just fine (I guess I should just die because I am fat. I am so angry and sick of this BS.

Why do I even bother.   Maybe I should just go off all my meds and just see what happens because I am done.  Nothing I helping anyway, and maybe if I go off the heat stuff my heart will just get to be as tired as I am and be done too.  I am just so exhausted, hopeless and done.

Yesterday at church my pastor was talking about “spiritual Sahara”, and that’s where I am right now.  He said when you are there hope evaporates and dreams die. I couldn’t have summed up my life right now any better.  My hope is dried up and dead, and my dreams are ran through a garbage disposal, put in a trash compactor, flushed down the toilet and sorted out with all the other solids in the waste water treatment plant.

Yes this is a pessimistic post.  Yes, its me throwing a pity party.  Yes its me being angry, resentful and tired of living my life.  But guess what, it’s my blog and I’ll bitch if I want to.