I’m drowning (in schoolwork)

This semester school is kicking my butt.  It could be that the depression is back with a vengeance.  Was put on yet another med- Topamax- I forget how many that makes now– too many.  But also I am taking a 7 week class.  Psychology of adolescence.  Holy Moly.  A 7 week class when you are 18 is a world of difference when you are 40.  I am barely hanging on by a thread, add to that homeschooling 2 kids, 3 hours of therapy, and my lack of motivation -yet my need for perfection- Im teetering on the edge.  Just need to make it till March 9 and I will be down to 3 classes, and May 10 and it’s done.  Graduation, May 11.

Been feeling pretty crappy lately.  I have had this impending sense of doom.  I am convinced sometime utterly terrible is going to happen… I don’t know what it is, but something truly horrible.  Logically I know I am probably dreaming but I can’t help but get a pit in my stomach when I let my mind wander.

Homeschooling is… going… well… it’s hard.  I know it’s what’s best. But it’s hard.  It’s hard under the best of circumstances but given all the circumstances we have going it’s super hard.  But we have some really good days.  And I am so thankful that I don’t have to send them back to a place that isn’t good for them.  It’s good for some kids, definitely.  My kids just don’t fit in that box.

In other news, we are still waiting on news of hubby’s disability claim, but when I checked the claim status it told me it can’t display the status right now, that is a good sign that there is movement.  Fingers crossed.

I guess it’s time to get back to the grind.

Until next time.

Nom de Plume: Just because I love that phrase…

Sometimes I wish I had written this without anyone in my “real” life being able to read it.  I have been very careful not to identify myself for strangers who might know me in person, but I know of a few of my friends and family who read this.

But that makes it hard for me to talk about several topics.  I don’t feel like I am able to talk about my frustrations with certain things (and people) in my life.

So on to what I feel like I can say.  First of all over the past couple of years I have become an expert in faking it.  We just had some people here that coordinate the mental health workers for my kids. They commented on how happy I seemed.  Ha! Little to they know how I have been feeling today.  Little do they know how with deliberateness (Is that a word) and calmness I self-harmed this morning. I have to reset the “clock” I have – 160 days I made it.  But this morning I just needed relief, and it felt good.

I’m at that scary place where it all seems fine on the outside but on the inside I am a bubbling mass of mess.

I guess that’s all….

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.

I want to cut

I want to cut so bad. The urge is almost unbearable. But I have to wear short sleeves tomorrow in front of my nephews birthday party, then to dinner with my in laws. And then Tuesday I have an MRI on my hip so I can’t carve up my leg… they’d know….

I am just feeling so low today. I don’t even know why.

This too shall pass?

Title…

I don’t know if I ever explained why I used the title I did for my blog.

I come from a community of people who are constantly telling me to smile. And well meaning people who tell me to “think positive”.

So, for the most part I hide my feelings inside.  I pretend everything is ok, even when my arms are cut up, or I have spent the morning crying.  It also refers to my signature move- stuff and avoid.

There is so much junk hiding in me, so many scars, and fresh wounds inside it would probably scare people away…. so those are “the things I hide inside”.

Even now, I have backslid in terms of depression, but I am keeping it hidden inside. No one knows I am constantly on the verge of tears, I am irritable and have a low tolerance for everything….

Homework

Princess Glitter Sparkle, much like PollyAnna assigns homework.  I told her this week that inside her isn’t blood it’s glitter. She’s just -glitter.  There’s no way else to describe it.  She’s glitter in people form.

So she asked me to draw what I want to look like inside- and this was the result..

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