Life Lessons

Life is a series of lessons that I’m not sure I want to continue taking.

I get it, life. I fucking get it!

Most people suck. Not only do they suck, but they also suck the life out of you.

Family is a word that implies a blood relation to someone. Family, for me anyway, doesn’t mean much of anything. I grew up with family surrounding me, but those people are all dead or have no interest in keeping in touch anymore. I’ve watched how much “family” means to my surviving kin and let me tell you, it means jack fucking shit.

My daughter and I are on our own now. My mom is gone, which marks the end of the glue stick.

Before anyone calls the funny farm to come and take me away, just stop a second.

Please. I am tired. Just so tired.

Tired of what humans do to each other, tired of pretending that I am alright, the fake smiles and laughter.

The sting of rejection and indifference.

That Selfish Bitch of a Daughter

My relationship with my mom was far from perfect.

I tend to repaint things with brighter colors, just like I did with my marriage, which was never a beautiful union of two souls who were in love. I wanted to believe that I was happy, but in reality, I was far from it. No, I was fucking miserable and trapped like a tiger in a cage.

But I didn’t want to come clean and throw away my fake canvas.

My mother suffered from anxiety and other fun mental health conditions that were never truly diagnosed and treated. Her generation didn’t talk of such things, which was probably why I was secretly shuffled off to therapists at an early age when my parents noticed I wasn’t quite right and didn’t fit in with the other kiddos.

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After I had my own daughter, she micromanaged my life. I mostly followed her advice and opinions, although many times I would disregard what she told me. She wasn’t always right, of course. But if I said no, she’d tell me that I was being stupid.

I felt guilty for being depressed, anxious and suicidal, especially these last few years. I tried to keep it from her, because if I ever had a weak moment and said anything, she’d tell me that she was just too tired to deal with it anymore.

She made me cry in the ER the Saturday evening before she died that Monday morning. She practically growled at me after I had foolishly said that after they “fixed” her (we still thought at that time that she’d be alright) she needed to allow me to start visiting her.

“I like to be alone! That’s the way I like it!”

I ran from the room and my boyfriend followed me outside. Once I got myself calmed down, I went back and she looked at me curiously. My aunt whispered and said not to cry in front of her.

I was being that selfish bitch of a daughter again. I lowered my head, ashamed.

Why had she pushed me away while she was sick?

Why had she snarled at me?

I’m sickened with myself for feeling an odd sense of freedom and (still) relief that she’s gone on. But I miss her, love her and continue to wait for a phone call that’ll never happen.

I’m a jumbled up mess.

I’ve always been the black sheep of the family, but now I might as well order a T-shirt that says exactly that on Amazon.

There are moments when I wish I had never been born.

No More Pain

My mom passed away this morning. She’s no longer in pain and suffering.

I am numb mostly. Please, pray if you’re the praying type.

Exhausted by Life

 

Well then. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything here. I almost forgot I had a 2nd blog that I created when I feel the need to stay on the down-low.

Which I do now.

Where to even start…there’s so much going on and all I really want to do is make a pillow fort to hide in.

I’ll just jump right into it, I suppose.

I’ve decided not to let the scared little 3 year old inside of me take over any longer. I’m facing my soon to be ex husband in court, the day after Mother’s Day, which is two weeks away. I did nothing wrong. He did the cheating and was heavy handed with his subtle abuse our entire 15 years together.

Why should I have to pay extra fines with money that I don’t have? I need to suck it up and just do it. I have a right to defend myself and just in case he thinks he has a right to half of my home, which he does not.

Since my mom is extremely ill, my aunt has offered to go with me for moral support.

I can do this. It’ll be difficult and I really hope that I don’t have a total panic attack or start crying.

Speaking of my mother, I don’t think she’ll make it much longer. She’s so miserable and I absolutely hate it. There isn’t anything that anyone can do. She’s seeing a surgeon this week about possibly getting a colonoscopy bag, if it would help her in any way, but I am doubtful that they’ll want to take a chance on a 74 year old woman with a bad heart and emphysema, who weighs less than 90 pounds.

On the good side (what’s that, Abbey?) of life, my 1 year anniversary with my boyfriend is coming up on June 3rd. It’s been a true life changer for me. I still have trust issues, mainly with being rejected once he finds out how fucked up I am, but I am sorting through all of that a day at a time. He treats me so well, I suppose that I’m still in shock most days.

That’s pretty fucking sad in its own way, isn’t it?

But back to the shitty end of the stick, I hate money. More importantly, I hate that I cannot work and make my own. I mean, I went to the grocery store on Saturday with my boyfriend and I used the zippy cart. Well, due to the continuing cold weather, internal stress and whatnot, it sent me into yet another fibro flare.

As much as I’d love to be healthy enough to work again, it ain’t gonna happen.

I try to keep my head above water, but I’m finding myself constantly sinking. I’ll probably have to sell my car to pay my house taxes.

I think that after my divorce is final, I’ll also be looking into possibly selling my home.

Poor people shouldn’t own a home.

I’m just really exhausted by life.

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How about you?

A Little Story

It’s rare for me nowadays to have much time to myself, but when it does happen, being alone with my own thoughts is either therapeutic or a slowly unfolding disaster, there is no in-between.

So here’s a little story:

At midnight on New Years Eve Day, my home flooded due to the electric company digging directly into a main water pipe. Nice job, guys.

Chaos ensued. My 26-year-old neighbor/son I never knew I wanted was a fucking lifesaver. He held me together, he talked me down, he spent $70 at Wal-Mart to buy a 6 gallon wet vac that didn’t even come close to keeping up with the amount of liquid rushing into my living room. We all finally gave up the fight. I had my 21-year-old daughter take our two dogs up to her room at 3am and I slept on my neighbors couch (ah, because of that fear of mine of being alone).

My boyfriend came over after reading my slew of messages and the photos that I had sent to him. He went to take a gander at my house and then came back over to me. He had tears in his eyes. He was quite sad for ME.

For me. He was crying for me, what the fuck? I am so not used to any man giving much of a shit about anything terrible that happens to me. I hugged him tight, I let him help me. I even somehow managed to stay awake to usher in 2019 with him. He fed me Taco Bell.

I slept 3 hours out of 48. Damn, I was exhausted, but so grateful for all of the help I received cleaning up the carnage.

But alas, I woke up at 4pm New Years Day so depressed and dare I say thinking about suicide again. I am so tired of that fucker, sincerely. I mean, for fuck sake already, give it a rest, brain chemicals.

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My daughter took me out to dinner and insisted that I order an alcoholic beverage.

The utility director came to my house yesterday to personally hand me a check for $5,500.00. I lost my dryer, my dishwasher, all of my living room carpet, a bookcase, a throw-rug, a few blankets and towels.

And to compensate me for what he called an “inconvenience fee.”

More like a 72 hour panic attack, dude.

It’s traumatic watching water (thankfully not sewer water) filling your home and coming at you like a wrecking ball. The money is nice and all (I am still in a bit of shock over having that sort of cash in my checking account) but to be honest, I am not even sure where to start.

A dryer is important. That is first, I don’t want to run out of underwear.

I suck at making decisions, I am also a master at procrastination. I suppose that it’ll all come out in the wash somehow.

God & Company

I believe in God. The Universe. My angels.

I feel my deceased father around me, even 32 years later. I talk to him periodically.

I have faith.

Ain’t no man or men that can change the shape my soul is in. – Avett Brothers

But I still have no idea what the fucking point of all of this is.

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Why does my brain want me to self-destruct? The thoughts that percolate in there are dark sometimes, my virtual friends.

As my mom would say about me, I don’t handle stress well. This is true. What also is true, my entire family knows that I’m a bit off my wheel.

“Crazy Aunt Abbey.”

Yep. And honestly, as much as I hate to admit it, I am.

Might as well own up to that shit, am I right?

I pray to God & Company to assist me in this life, to help me to stick around and not swallow a cocktail of medications or hang myself from a nice oak tree in the park. I really don’t want to go, but fuck my brain when it starts going in that direction.

I am used to those thoughts, that I am weak and not worth much to anyone. It’s true that under stress, I crack like an old coffee mug. I’ve always been rather Eeyore-like, I hide it behind my sense of humor. I am not the only person who does that, it’s a survival tactic. It’s always worked for me, everybody loves a clown.

A sad clown, a fake-ass funny, happy fucking clown.

I pray with tearful eyes, please God, help me stay strong.

Help me stay alive.

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