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Thirty-Something

Musings and fuckery

I left the house for a couple of hours on Saturday.  I was proud of myself.  I tried to go on Sunday,but it didn’t work out because I needed to stay with the baby.  I love her, so very much, and I’m happy to step up and be the mother that she needs, it just has set me back so much.  I wouldn’t change it.   Without me, our family, this precious baby wouldn’t have a single person in the world to love her.  She’s been tossed around, neglected and abused all in her short 15 months of life before we got her.  We have had her for almost nine months now, and she’s so happy!  She walks now, is learning, and is loved.  I know the drugs she was born with in her system will be a long hard road to overcome, combined with her life before us, but she is doing amazing.  

So that’s what my life has been for the past nine months….  Mommy again.  My youngest was 14 when we were given the baby.  So basically we set the reset button and all I’ve been doing is staying here with her. 

My husband finally invited me to do something for the first time in so long I really don’t remember…. He invited me to go to breakfast with him this morning….  

He hasn’t gotten up yet and I’m worried.  I’m really afraid of how it will impact me if he doesn’t wake up to go.  Last night before he went to bed he promised me….   I hope….    

If I went to this play written in interview with the vampire, I would be so sexually charged I would probably combustably orgasm in the theatre!  

16 years, and whadda ya get? 

Once upon a time, we were in love…..

Then happened. 

I told you that life happening, but you didn’t do anything to change it.

I longed for your attention, you ignored my plea.

I kept trying to believe in you, you kept failing.

I helped open a business for you, and when it was clear that it was a failure, you ignored me and brought us even further down in debt. 

We used to have coffee, dinner, movies…  Now we have fights… That’s when we talk.  

Where are my sister witches?  I’m new to blogging and hoping to connect with some like minds!  

It isn’t as much fun crocheting when you’re not stoned. 

Life in prison 

I think that the worst part of having agoraphobia and anxiety is when you’re hungry, or have cabin fever…. Yes, even agoraphobics can have cabin fever… In fact, we have it all the time…  We think about the things we used to do, the places we used to visit, our favorite places we would eat….  And then you find yourself…  Frozen….  I haven’t eaten in two days, and I’ve drank exactly on glass of water, 1/2 a cup of coffee and one soda.  So when someone asks if this disability is real?  Think about this shit.  The pain of life outweighs my hunger any day of the week….  I type this feeling utterly alone while I am in a house with six other people.  I know it is easy to say that the grass is greener on the other side, but being held captive inside of my mental prison to me is a life sentence and not one that I committed the offense to be condemned to….  

A pallat for death

Men typically off their selves in a violent way… Guns to the brain where brain matter is plastered all around their blown out head with particles of their memories, emotions, life are adorning their surroundings.  A life immoratilized in suicide.  No matter what the fuck you ever accomplish, that’s your crowning accomplishment.  There’s also the avenue of hanging…. I have known more than a handful who have done both.  

I’m one of the pill popping pussies who couldn’t take the physical pain of those options….  

With that said, here is my story from two nights ago….

Begging, pleading, desperation…. I rolled over to my nightstand and pulled out a smörgåsbord of scripts…  Not knowing what the fuck I had in my hand which was spiking from all the pills, I placed them in my mouth…  I held them before that…  Felt them turning around in my hand…  The power if ending it all, literally held in my hand.  I finally felt like I had some fucking control again….  

I couldn’t swallow.  I wasn’t sure if I’d actually accomplish my  goal, or if I’d end up surrounded by people talking to me about how much shit I had unsuccessfully swallowed…. 

So I spit the half dissolved mouthful of pills back in one of the many prescription bottles currently cluttering my bed with the contaminating and damning proof of the moment…  The moment lost….  The time that got away….

And began to make a doggy door with a knife in my bedroom door…. 

Uppity fucks 

You think you’ve got depression?  You think you know?  You think you know what anxiety, panic attacks, agorphobia, depression with a primary of Ocd diagnoses feels like?  Fuck you!  You don’t have a fucking clue if your advice to me is to “take back my fucking life.”. You don’t know what it is to wake up and be in the middle of a panic attack and just start crying.  Or to get up, walk to the bathroom, and lock yourself in because things beyond that door are out of your control.  Hell, things on the inside of the door are out of your control too…  Can’t stop fucking crying, try to form words, but instead you’re simply fucking betrayed by yourself again. The damn secret spilling tears.  You can only hope to convince if those little secret tellers don’t spill…  

Change rooms, sit on the bed and the cool air from the fan blows over me tear stained face, and helps me to stop convulsing with crying…  It almost makes me remember what it felt like to drive in a car with the windows down.  So energizing…  I remember putting my entire arm in the window and letting the air pull my long hair out and blow it wild and crazy.  I remember the taste of the wind drying my lips….  I remember being free.  

Release

I don’t know of many feelings that can top a good release….  Any kind of releasement actually….  When you were a kid and swam down, down, down to the very bottom of the pool, then raced back up as fast as possible so you could release that pressurizing breath that was screaming for….  release….  You see the surface coming closer and let the air out, then your lungs are begging to be quinched with that rush of fresh oxygen….

Letting go of a burden….  Releasing the responsibility of a problem…

Sexual release….  Going to the bathroom….

So my thoughts pulled me to wonder, how much am I holding inside that is doing me damage..  

Like when you’ve got the stomach flu, and you just don’t want to throw up again…. A cough you’re holding back in the middle of a church service….  That laugh you’re stifling, it’s bursting through your lips begging for release right in the middle of a….you guessed it…  Funeral…  Maybe the bad stuff we keep inside demands the most inopportune time to present itself….  Like when you’re being yelled at by someone in power, and you can’t stop smiling!!!  So embarrassing….  

Maybe the expulsion is all about timing….   

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