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Archive for September, 2017

Nothing says ‘train wreck’ more than a single female about to go on a date.

The wardrobe changes. Make-up changes. Crying. Why? Because those are physical representations of the war going on in my head. I love the comedies that have a good Angel and a bad angel on a person’s shoulders. It’s a fairly decent representation. When you have anxiety, you have 10x the ‘angels’ on your shoulder. Really it is all the criticisms that you have received in your life that stay on repeat. 

“You look like a hooker” “You will never be happy” “You deserve what you get” “You are too fat” “You are too old to be dating again, what are you thinking?!” “You are the parent, how can you give your daughter relationship advice when you don’t even know what the hell you are doing?” “You deserve to be alone” “You are way too weird to be dating” “You only get one soulmate in your life” “You suck at love” 

Yay Anxiety!!

So, I have changed clothes 4x. I have redone my makeup 4x. Cried 2x. Taken a nap to avoid being too tired.

Made mental notes about what not to talk about: 

1) Don’t talk about your ex.

2) Don’t talk about your love of office supplies i.e. Colored pens, post its, file folders, and fancy paper clips.

3) He hasn’t been married or had kids so that’s out. 

4) Don’t talk about the hell that has been this last year.

Great. So that leaves laundry, the weather, and sports. 

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s gonna be fine!

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I may have mentioned a few times how much I hate the old “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle,” saying. Today, it popped up in my mind on the way to greet a mental intervention team from the county, dispatched to my youngest daughter’s middle school because she sent a suicide note to one of her friends. She’s 12.

As the gentlemen spoke to me in annoyingly hushed tones, I felt the hot tears  roll down my face. Yes, I knew she was having a hard time. That was why we tried an anxiety medication. 

I answered the man’s family history questions in dumb fashion as I listened to my daughter’s plan to kill herself. A .22 rifle. Or cutting herself. My stomach lurched as she showed me a long scar on her hip where she had tried cutting. 

Mom of the year. How do you not know what to do when your kid is so desperate to end the holes in their heart?

My ex barely said anything. Shocker.

God, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be strong for my kids anymore. I don’t ever know what the fuck I am doing half the time. Why am I being assaulted on every aspect of my life this year?!?!? When is it my turn to be comforted? When will someone be there to hold me when I fall apart? I have nothing left God. You have allowed levels of hell that I can’t comprehend in my life and I don’t fucking understand. You allowed my little girl to be bullied to the point of feeling like the world was better off without her…….

Please God, please, no more…….

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We all wear masks. We wear our armor of goodness and virtue with pride. We take on the battles of life, receiving bumps and bruises along the way. But occasionally, life throws something out that is so left field, we are stripped of our masks and armor. We are left exposed to see who we really are. And that is a seldomly enjoyed experience.

I have worked really hard on accepting people, forgiveness, and extending grace at all times. I had the opportunity to organize a couple of rooms for a disabled man. 

Horrifying truth be told, I was sickened to be around him. He is a nice enough man, however the overwhelming health issues left him confined to a wheelchair, 100% disabled, widowed, and an odd obsession of hoarding medical supplies.

(Houston couldn’t possibly produce enough chiggers after Hurricane Harvey to require his copious amounts of big bite treatments.)

I was overwhelmed by the smell that greeted me at the door. It was a wall of sterile medical supplies, cat urine, and stagnate air. I was blissfully unaware of the medical care situation for disabled people. I never wanted to think about fully disabled people. Because their families should take care of them. Right?!? 

I was pushed into a situation far beyond my comfort zone. I was stripped of any facade to protect myself. I had to look at myself in the mirror. And I didn’t like what I saw. I was repulsed at the level of medical care, I was repulsed by the clients’ obsessions, and I am pretty sure the smell helped.

I am still disgusted with my lack of compassion and trying to distance myself from the situation. I don’t understand why I feel the need to withdraw and it scares me too.

“All that is necessary to perpetuate evil is that good men do nothing”

It’s easier to do nothing and feel nothing, if you look the other way. Welcome to the Masquerade.

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I suffer from PTSD for a variety of reasons. But it never ceases to disgust me when I get triggered. I mean, it has been a long time since many events have happened. I get annoyed to realize that I can be shut down to a sobbing, shaking pile of nothing over a series of events, a sound, a smell, or any combination of those.

Today it was a client taking his first nitro tablet and calming the spouse. I managed to hold it together until I left them (he is fine btw).

I am so tired of feeling. I am good on my feet and in the moment. I have helped people on the side of the road after a car crash, helped a 16yr old get through a seizure and go with her in the ambulance, walked several people through cancer treatments, and lost the man I loved to a personality change after a massive set of heat attacks. It is the heart attack that gets to me. 

And somehow a nitroglycerin tablet brought it all crashing back today. People say that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. I am here to tell you that that is fucking bullshit. If you never loved, you wouldn’t know what you lost. That grief is the worst pain, I have ever experienced. 

I will never ever forget the last moment of fear in my husband’s eyes and him trying to say ‘help me’ before his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness. I wish I could forget it. I would take whatever drug they came up with to erase that.

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WTF does that even mean?!?! A well meaning ‘friend’ told me that a week ago. And quite frankly, it pissed me off.

I agree that the ‘rebound’ relationship is not something that I want to get into. But I hate being alone.

As the house sits mostly empty this evening, I am reminded that my children are not with me forever. And that being ‘alone’ is just not going to work for me. 

I was never a ‘loner’. I don’t ‘want’ to be alone. I wasn’t made to be alone. And I don’t feel like I should have to justify that to anyone. I had a soulmate. And he doesn’t exist anymore. 

Nothing will compare to that. I don’t want to learn to live with the hole in my heart. I don’t want to ‘learn to live with yourself’. I actually want to sleep next to a person at night. I actually want the ‘safety’ that I felt long ago. I don’t care about the dozens of annoying habits people have.

I just want to be loved and truly cherished by someone. So the next time you feel like telling someone that they should “get to know yourself and be in a relationship with yourself” shove a rag into your mouth. 

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