BLOGGER TEMPLATES - TWITTER BACKGROUNDS »

4.26.2009

Repetition...

I am honestly sick and tired of writing about depression. I feel that there's nothing more that I could possibly write about it. I wish it would go away but it never does. At least, it doesn't go away for very long before something triggers its inevitable return.

If I'm not depressed about money (and it's usually money), then I'm depressed about my weight. If not my weight, then life in general. If not life in general, it's back to money issues. Ugh, so many fucking money issues. Always. I work to live, live to work and it's like there is nothing in between except this irritating factor called consciousness.

I hate money. I hate not having it. I even hate having it because I never have enough of it to do the things I need to do. And I don't want to do extravagant things. I just want to pay my fucking bills. I don't want to live above my means, I just want to live period. In this economy I am extremely thankful for my job. I'm lucky and blessed and I know it. But damn damn damn it's still fucking hard to make ends meet. I give and I give and I swear I can't give anymore. Morning, noon and night I sit and worry and fret. The worry causes me to eat, which causes me to gain weight, which further sinks me into the abyss of depression and self loathing.

I'm sick of it all. I'm at the point (again) where no mom should ever tread. The point where you really give serious thought to giving up your kids to someone else in hopes that they can do a better job than you can in providing for them. I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm so tired of weeping, waking with sore and swollen eyes and telling everyone "Oh it's just allergies." Bullshit. I'm knocking my head against a brick wall trying my damnedest to find a way around it, under it, over it, ANYWHERE but where I am now.

I just don't know what else I can do.

And then I think of people like the Spohrs and GB and I look at my kids and wonder how blessed I am, that I shouldn't complain, I shouldn't be ungrateful, that I'd give up a week, month, year of my life if it meant those two families could have that much more time with their precious babies. I look at my two and think that I have to do this, I have no choice, they deserve a mom that can do the best that she can to better their lives.

But sometimes I feel I just can't do it. I feel helpless and hopeless. Always. No amount of Prozac takes away the feeling. And truthfully, something that I'll admit here and nowhere else... I'm developing a habit with the pills. Oh not the prozac, that does nothing really. But combined with percocet, oxycontin, hydrocodone, codeine, anything else it numbs me so that I can't really focus on my problems. It gives me dreamless sleep and peace of mind. I don't overdose, up my dose, combine or anything like that. If I feel that one drug loses it's effect I'll go off it for a week, two and try something different afterwards. Guess it's no worse than people that smoke weed to put themselves in another place and forget their problems. I could never understand why people got high.

Now I do. And I hate that I understand so fucking well.

4.16.2009

Humbled...

I was all set to write about my sorrows. Bitch about my weight, the ills of life, woe is me...

And then...

I read this...

Which led me to this...

After which I read this, this, and this...

And by the time I sat down and viewed this I was in tears...

Nothing matters anymore. All the shit I would've complained about and whined about; all the injustices and things weighing heavy on my heart... none of it matters. My heart could explode for all the sadness I feel for these two families.

I sat and I stared at my two beautiful blessings and thought of how crushed I would be if... if... if the unthinkable happened. Never to stroke their hair again, breathe in their lovely scents, hear their laughter, feel their hugs.

My God.