- why I am always fucking broke
- has self-expression gone too far?
- the only thing I ever enjoyed about Seroquel
- why dentists are such fizzy douches
- the stresses of being “brilliant” and “mentally ill” at the same time
- why my mother needs to be nominated for sainthood
- why “chocolate” and “tea” do not belong in the same beverage
I’m about at the end of my rope with humanity. I realize it’s Monday. I realize I didn’t sleep well because of terrible nightmares. I realize Josh is not known for being a decent human being. But why for the love of all that is holy is all of this bullshit happening at once???
I got maybe 3 hours of sleep last night. I started having nightmares early on and continued until around 2:30. I’ve trained my brain to wake up when that shit gets too bad, so I woke up and laid awake until Josh’s alarm started going off at 4:30. I got up when he did and tried to shake the cobwebs from my brain. I told him I hadn’t slept well because of the dreams. He left for work.
When he got to work and started texting me he started right in on having sex tonight. We’re talking like the very first message after the one telling me he’d arrived he started this shit. It’s continued all goddamn morning.
I had a customer call with a problem. I couldn’t get into her course right away because she’s tied to about 100 of them. She told me what she thought had happened and that she’d call back after class. Come to find that she brought the problem on herself by her own stupidity. She called back, I told her what she’d done, she asked to come over. Fifteen minutes later I call the other office – she’s there. I told them what she’d done and they took care of her. So fucking stupid.
Josh called at lunch. More with the sex. I finally asked him what the big fucking deal was and why he felt it necessary to start in on me first thing. “I thought it would help make you feel better.” SERIOUSLY? Oh yeah, nothing makes a bad day better than being fucked into a good mood. And then he asked me about the nightmares! I’ve spent the better part of the last 8 hours trying to repress that shit, but by all means, let’s drag it up so I can be traumatized some more.
And my tooth still hurts. Actually I guess I should say my mouth still hurts. A tooth a few spots up from the one they worked on is still super sensitive to hot and cold. I’ve called and gotten an appointment for 3pm this afternoon. I have no idea what this means but I’m miserable. I can’t really chew on that side of my mouth and any time something hot or cold touches that area I want to scream.
So really, if anyone out there cares about me, get a sniper to take me out this afternoon. Pretty please?
Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, but I think the brat wants to be like me. The thought of that scares the living shit out of me.
Her mom has been doing this thing with her where if she earns so many gold stars she gets to do something. So far she’s gone shopping for a new outfit, put blue streaks in her hair, and gotten her ears pierced a second time. Seems a bit much for a 9 year old. What troubles me is that I had purple hair for awhile when I first met her. And apparently I’m the only person she knows who has more than one set of holes in their ears.
Coincidence? Makes you wonder.
But seriously, I am not a role model. I’ve made a whole lot of poor choices over the course of my short life. I started drinking and smoking when I was 11. Started having sex at 13. Came home pregnant while I was a freshman in high school. Got married at 18. Went through a period when I drank myself unconscious every night. Have had so many sexual partners I’ve lost count and forgotten at least half the names, let alone the faces. I’ve tried to kill myself 5 times. I’ve gotten myself so far into debt that I’m still digging out.
I say again – I am NOT a role model.
Sure, I have a few redeeming qualities. When I want to use my brain I’m fairly smart. Some would say I’m attractive. I’m proud of the fact that I’m witty. I’ve managed to hold down a full time job the entire time I’ve been ill. I’ve bounced back so many times from so many unpleasant things that it makes me wonder if my butt isn’t part rubber.
But I am NOT a role model.
It scares me to think that someone would want to be like me. What’s so fucking great about me? I live in a basement, I’m married to a lazy alcoholic, I’m still way further in debt than I should be…
What is so fucking fantastic about me?
I try to be a good person and take care of the people closest to me. I’m a hard worker and I always try to do my best, no matter what I’m doing. I’m trying to leave this world just a little better than it was when I came into it.
I was never one of the “cool” kids in school. I always had my own warped fashion sense and I did the things I wanted to do because I wanted to do them, not because everyone else was doing them. I have always marched to the beat of my own drummer. I’m me, what can I say.
But for the love of all that is holy – DO NO TRY TO BE LIKE ME!!!
Each of us is our own person. We’re all unique in our own ways. Don’t emulate me or try to be like me, be like you. Love who “you” is. Embrace that. Don’t embrace my bullshit, it won’t work for you. I’ve gone through a whole lot of hell to get where I am – don’t follow the path I took, it sucked. My life is not worth living to anyone but me. Everything I’ve ever gotten I’ve worked my ass off for. I’ve made just about every mistake a woman can make. Don’t be like me, be like you.
I actually cried last night trying to explain this to Josh. For some unknown reason it matters to that brat if I like her or not. WTF??? Who am I? I’m just some woman who married her father, I’m not a goddamn saint that needs to be put on a pedestal. Don’t be like me!!!
Half the time being me sucks ass. The other half the time I’m so out of my goddamn mind that I just don’t realize how much it sucks. I wake up every day knowing that a battle royale awaits me outside the bedroom door. I fight for every fucking inch I gain and then somedays I lose entire feet, yards, miles. Do not try to be like me, you won’t enjoy it.
“But honey, you’re smart and attractive and funny and you’re good to people.”
It’s called being a fucking doormat and it’s not a good thing to be. And by the way, I’m not attractive so shut the fuck up.
And I don’t feel like I should have to have this conversation with a 9 year old child. There are things about my life that I would rather she never know, it’s none of her fucking business. I understand that we all need to find ways to rebel against our parents and express ourselves, I just don’t want to see her making the same mistakes I made when I went down that road.
And she’s not my kid. There’s no blood shared between us so there’s absolutely no logical reason to think she’ll be anything like me except for the fact that she’s already starting to express herself in the same exact ways that I did only she’s younger and that just fucking scares me. What if she gets sick and does stupid things like I did? What if there’s some way that my fucked-up-ness rubs off on her and she ends up making a disaster of her life too just because she’s spent some time with me? I just can’t live with that. It’s too fucking scary. I won’t take responsibility for ruining someone’s life. That is the precise reason I never had kids of my own – I didn’t want to be saddled with the responsibility of another soul.
This is just fucking eating a hole in my heart.