Annoyed With Myself

It has probably been about four years since I actually accepted I was mentally ill. I was diagnosed depressed when I was twelve, close to a year and a half after my mother commited suicide. Of course at that age I wasn’t going to believe some doctor telling me I was sick in my head. As far as I was concerned, I was just going through life’s worst case of puberty. Whatever was wrong in my head would work itself out. After all, my brain wasn’t finished developing yet. I threw the Prozac I started getting a prescription for at sixteen in the trash. I didn’t need it. 

Flash forward and I’ve admitted and accepted that I am one of many with mental health issues. I am still learning about how to cope with my depression and anxiety but still can’t find a good enough answer to “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing” is always the easiest answer. It’s better than struggling to find a way to tell you, hell even to show you, what’s going on. But I really have a list of answers for you: 

I’m so tired. No seriously, I’m exhausted. All day I’ve been chasing my thoughts around my head. I’ve been trying to bring the optimism to the front but I’ve been trampled on over and over by pessimism. What you’ve been looking at as a temporary issue, I’ve been looking at as an endless possibility of ways to make life exponentially more terrible. All while telling myself what everyone else is telling me: “This is only temporary.” Only I can’t  believe myself, or you, or our neighbor and our best friend. There will always be something else coming up. Living in your head is more tiring than living in the outside world. 

I’m so heavy. I know, I know. I’m not fat. You’re only taking what I say at face value. I am carrying more than just the pudge that was left after having my two girls. I’ve got the weight of my previous choices, my car that now really isn’t my car anymore, getting my girls to school on time (or at all), making sure my boyfriend gets enough attention from me so he doesn’t think I’m uninterested or unappreciative of all he does for us, doing something around the house so nobody looks at me like a lazy fuck who does nothing but close herself up in her room. I’ve got people to make happy on all corners. 

I’m too fucking forgetful. Did I take my meds today? Did I take them yesterday? Have I had a shower today? Did I put deodorant on? Where the hell did I put my phone? Did I ever call my grandma like I said I would? Did I eat today? Why the fuck can’t I remember to do these normal ass tasks? 

I’m so sorry. I am in a continous state of apology. I have done terrible things and I don’t deserve love, yet it is still given to me. I just want you to know I am sorry for what I’ve done and what I might do. For what I said without thinking, for what I impulsively did to try and get your attention, for the sharp tongue I have when I’m angry. All of these things I am learning to control, but I can’t tell you when I’ll have it mastered. For that, I am sorry. 

I wish my motivation came as easy as yours. I see the trash can overflowing. I know I should  change the bag, but that would require energy that i just don’t have. Sure, a clean room would be awesome. I can’t get my ass out of this bed. I want to. I hope some day I am as motivated as you. 

I am forever trying to improve myself. I just can’t explain what is on the inside to those who live on the outside. 

When It Rains, It Pours (On Me)

I somehow managed to fall asleep before one in the morning last night. I took my glasses off at 11:30 and was surprisingly asleep shortly after that. No tossing or turning, just asleep. My silly self believed that maybe because I fell asleep at a decent time, I would wake up at a decent time too. As expected, that wasn’t the case. I was poked awake (if you catch my drift) by Paul around 8:30. After that, I felt the need to go pee and then hide back in bed. My phone was blinking all kinds of colors, meaning I had a plethora of unread notifications, and for some reason I was nervous to look at them. It’s like I could sense the bad news awaiting me before I even looked to see who was trying to contact me. Let me tell you, when I’ve got a hunch it’s almost always right.(To quote a stupid movie: “60 percent of the time, it works every time.”)

To say I have terrible luck with cars would be an understatement. While I can’t take total responsibility for the fate of previous cars I’ve had, they were all in my name and ultimately my decisions made for an unattractive fate for my babies. Most of my choices were made because of my apparent inability to say no to people, especially those I love and claim to love me. If you have been keeping up with my posts, you already know that my little orange car has been more of a pest than anything lately. Pest or not, I made an agreement with an ex-coworker and her husband for this car. Forty dollars every Sunday until the initial $2500 that was asked for the car is paid off. With me not working and Paul only serving, cash has been a little tight. December is a HUGE present month too, aside from Christmas there’s my birthday and Paul’s birthday as well. Anyway, Babe and I have mechanic friends who are more than willing to look at the car and not charge us for service. We have been working with them as their father died the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and they’ve been a little preoccupied. I told my friend about our car issues and that we would try to have something for them by this weekend. I guess her husband wasn’t okay with that. I woke up (finally, around 12:30 when I just couldn’t sleep any more) to an email from her husband telling me to come up with $200 by Sunday or $1600 by the 11th (my fucking birthday). He explained he knew about my unemployment but his time of giving me a chance to pay for the car is over. After explaining the car issue to him and the other issue of it being the only car that my family can get around in seeing as my father-in-law owns a Ford Ranger (which barely passes as a truck to begin with) took a shit on him last night and he had to have it towed back home, he told me he would fix the truck but that it sounds like the car has a blown gasket and we should just return it to him ASAP. He told me if we didn’t he would be charging me for the damage out on the car. So I woke up to the lovely news that I don’t get the opportunity to fix my car, I just have to return to seller and hope I can find another way to get around.

Needless to say, the good I was feeling yesterday is gone. I am aware it is just a posession. It can be replaced. But not one of you can tell me that it isn’t a bitch and a half to get to where you need to be when you have no means of transportation. My daughters are spending the week with my grandmother just so I can make sure they get to school every day. Luckily Bab3 works close enough that a ride to work for him will not be hard to come by. But what am I supposed to do? Find a job making less than minimum wage at one of the gas stations within walking distance of my house? Continue to have my girls stay the weeks 20 minutes away from home because I am unable to provide them with the transport to school? I hate this. 

I made the choice to put my wedding dress up for sale. It hurt to post those pictures but I guess $800 worth of ivory material isn’t doing me much good right now. Besides, the wedding we wanted won’t be happening anyway. 

I didn’t do anything today but lay around and feel sorry for myself. I’m almost sure Babe was glad to get out of the house and go to work; a few hours without having to look at the permanent frown I have going on.

“It’s only temporary,” I keep telling myself. “You have been through worse and you will get through this.”

*On a side note- I am aware I haven’t started my Open Letter challenge yet, but I HAVE written ay least once a day every day. So my original goal is being met, and I think that’s something to be proud of.*

Some Done, Some Not So Done.

I didn’t wake up at 8:30 today. I woke up once at 9 to test my car and when it sat there shaking for three straight minutes after I turned the key, I caved and crawled back in to bed next to Babe (who is off today). He was up shortly after, and I continued to sleep until 11 or so. 

I did manage to get up, get some detergent and cross a few loads of laundry off my to-do list. The girls and I even got  the livingroom clean before they went off to spend the night with my grandmother. 

Other than that, Babe and I just spent some time together. I wanted to do my open letter to him today but with him at the house all day, I knew I wasn’t going to get any time to be with my thoughts. It’s not that I worry he’ll read it, I just don’t like anyone reading over my shoulder. Can anyone honestly say their best work is done with someone standing behind them? 

I’d say today was definitely a step in the right direction. Tomorrow will be better. My favorite part of the cute little sticky notes for my Happy Planner are that I can move a task over if I need to. And so, my Open Letter Challenge will begin tomorrow when I don’t have to be questioned about what I’m writing about.

A Small, Possibly Meaningless Update 

Earlier today I rambled on about my lack of motivation to do, well, anything at all. After logging off the computer, I snuck back in to my room and immediately logged on to Overwatch. Endlessly going through game after game gets so repetitive it truly feels as if I could go through a couple rounds with my eyes shut. I finally told myself enough times that I wasn’t actually having fun and turned my game off. 

I decided to tackle my planner issue. Why should something as minimal as a box have a hold on my ability to be a more productive person? I LOVE my Happy Planner and, when I actually make a habit of planning, I get shit done with it! I opened up to the start of this upcoming week and got started. I’m more of a day-by-day planner, it gives me time every day to release a little creativity and productivity. I have made it a weekly goal to be up by 8:30 every morning. If by some miracle my poor excuse of a car decides to start up without any issue, I want to be up early enough to get the girls to school. (I say school but they are too young. It’s a daycare that will transition in to school up until 3rd grade, and then they will be entering the public school system.) This is going to be tough. My depression is full force in the morning. This is the time I feel the heaviest. 

Mondays are for new beginnings. I want this to be the week I finally change for the better. I hope that by blogging about this journey, I have found another means of accountability for myself. 

The beginning of my week via my Happy Planner. Notice my reminder to post my open letter tomorrow. Also in the shot: my heart-shaped basket I told you about, complete with my 12 rolls of washi tape (sad, I know) and in the corner you can see part of the infamous box that has frightened me away from my planning. Not anymore! How silly of me to be saddened by a box. 

Starting Tomorrow

To make sure that I write at least once a day, I am going to begin an “open letter” challenge tomorrow. I might do more than one in a day (if I feel like it). I have been trying to be an active blogger for several years now, but motivation comes and goes as often as my mood swings. I figure this will open my heart and my mind to get back in to the swing of writing daily, something I haven’t done since I graduated high school.

Anyway, here’s the list in case anyone else would like to participate! I found it on Pinterest.

open-letter-challenge

Procrastination At Its Finest

20161127_165002It’s amazing how even the most random things can inspire you. This is a drawing of a “map” that my youngest daughter just finished. Normally, maps lead you to something right? I can’t tell where this one begins and where I need to go to find my treasure. I left my imagination back in my childhood, so her trails are obviously just scribbles to me. I do see a something though; I see more of a blueprint for what’s currently going on inside my head.

As my post suggests, I am procrastinating from doing something. I’m sure you’re dying to know what. I’d love to tell you, but I’m just not able to pinpoint one certain thing I should be doing. So, for the sake of not leaving anything out, let’s just say I’m actively avoiding my day-to-day life. If you look back a couple of posts, you can read just a snippet of the darkness that likes to show up on my shoulders at any given moment. Being at war with your own mind has got to be one of the most exhausting trials one can encounter.

Yesterday, I pulled my Happy Planner out of the cardboard box I had been keeping it in. (I highly suggest one if you’re interested in keeping better track of your day! I love mine, even if I sometimes forget to use it.) The box, while not really that important, is probably something that should be thrown away just because of the negative feeling I get when handling it. It was the box that the company I was working for used to pack up and mail all the stuff I had left in my desk before I never showed up for one of the four hour shifts they had decided to leave me with during the week. I kept it, as it was big enough for my planner as well as my little heart-shaped basket that kept my washi tape and favorite pen. A prime example of my depression messing with me without my noticing: I avoid going near the box now. It reminds me of a job I had and loved, a job I made the choice to leave. Something so meaningless has seemingly disabled me from going about my day normally.

Anyway, back to my planner. I filled out (in pretty great detail) all that I had planned to accomplish on this lovely Sunday. I was going to fold those clothes that had been sitting in multiple laundry baskets around Babe and I’s tiny room. I was going to pick up the room and even look for some bed sheets that would actually fit on our bed (somebody might have burned a hole in the sheets we already had) so we could stop sleeping on a bare mattress with a heavy comforter. I was going to have the girls tackle the livingroom along with their bedroom and their play room, all of which are absolutely covered in toys and blankets from their “forts”.

I went to bed fairly early (for me), a little past midnight. Babe and I slept through the alarm and he was almost late for work. I woke up at 11:30, which is an accomplishment considering I wouldn’t normally be greeting the day until at least an hour later. (Another reason not having a job is killing me? I find no urgency to get out of bed.) I sat up and attempted to rub out the sleep from the corners of my eyes, determined to get started on my to-do list I had so eagerly prepared the night before. I knew that sleeping in meant he took himself to work and I was going to be without a car for the day. If I wanted anything from the store, I would have to hope that his dad was already planning on getting out of the house and I could ask him to get it for me. His little truck is a stick shift. My cousin, who taught me how to drive, skipped over teaching me how to drive a standard. Something tells me he was already paralyzed with fear to have to teach me an automatic.

I have what can only be described as an extreme caffeine addiction. Hell, it’s 6 pm and I’m sipping on a Monster as I write this. It can get a little out of hand at times but considering all the nasty stuff I could have chosen to be addicted to, I say I’m still coming out on top. So when I crawled out of bed and to the kitchen, you can only imagine my absolute disappointment to find less than half a cup of coffee left in the still on coffee maker. I poured the remainder of the coffee and got everything ready to brew a new pot. Water was in, filter was in. I opened the Folgers can (gross) to find NOTHING. My disappointment turned to a dull rage as I rushed back to my room. Okay no coffee, at least I can have a cigarette. Again I was wrong. Babe had taken the last of our Newports to work with him. I couldn’t be mad though, he did have to work a double today. I rolled my eyes knowing that him being at work meant I was going to have to ask his dad to pick me up a pack and tell him he would get paid back when Babe got home. He agreed. He left for the store when I had a brain fart and thought “Hey I can get some money out of my change jar and go to the gas station for a Monster,” forgetting I was without a car. By the time I got ahold of his dad on the phone to ask him to get me one, he was already pulling in to the driveway. Still no caffeine, but at least I had nicotine.

After my first cigarette of the day, I decided to get started on the laundry. About halfway through the first basket of laundry, all the clothes started smelling as if they had already been worn. Mixed baskets piss me off more than I can explain to you. I hung up what was clean and took the rest of the dirty clothes to the laundry room. Pouring the remainder of the baskets in the washing machine, I came to the realization that we were out of laundry detergent! So already, I had to put off the laundry part of my to-do list. I took to cleaning up the room. I made an improvement and ruined it as I tore through the room trying to find some sheets. After about 20 minutes, I gave up. Another task to that I had no choice but to put off.

I raised my white flag. The darkness laughed triumphantly as I turned on my Xbox to drown myself in mindlessly killing fake enemies. I haven’t had a new game in months, so I just keep playing the same games over and over again hoping for a new outcome. I didn’t care as long as I didn’t have to think about all the stuff I wasn’t able to get accomplished today.

I made myself a “weekly goals” portion at the beginning of each week in my planner. One of my goals has been to write once a day. Something I love to do is made in to a chore just by making it a goal of my week. So when SG brought me her map, I knew I had to stop trying to escape my mind and embrace it. My daughter drew my jumbled mind by accident but she helped me more than she knows.

Just blurting out all my disappointments of the day has helped clear my mind. Just writing this post has made me realize that 1. I need to get rid of the box I keep my planner in! I’m not getting anything down in it because my subconscious is telling me to stay away from that stupid box. 2. I am capable of waking up before noon, I just need to force myself up! Continuing to let the darkness lay on top of me is NOT comfortable, so I need to get my ass up and moving. 3. Procrastinating does nothing but upset me more. I can’t fight a battle while I’m on my back not doing a damn thing.

Thanks for listening. And if you didn’t, I’ll just thank myself for being open and honest to the only audience that matters right now: Me.

Shit My Daughters Do (Part 1 of ??)

Let me just start off by saying I absolutely LOVE my girls. At five and four years old, they are two of the most beautiful little girls I have ever laid eyes on. SL, my little freckle-faced diva, can already work her way around a smart phone and is always ready to take center stage for new guests. SG has such dark curls and beautiful blue eyes that really just pop out at you. You will almost always see her with an animal of some sort, either of the stuffed or living variety. All adorable aside, my daughters also do some crazy shit. Whether it’s hilarious, disgusting, over-the-top dramatic, or just plain pitiful, mama will always have a story to tell. 

Tonight’s story is a little gross and kinda funny. As I’m sure a lot of parents (if not all) can relate, my daughters LOVE taking frequent trips to the bathroom when we are out to eat. My kids, probably unlike yours, enjoy bathrooms too much. They literally compare all the bathrooms we go in to and one of the first questions asked about a new place is “Do they have bathrooms there?” Weird, I know. The strangest part is this: when we are out and about, the girls argue over who gets to flush the toilet. It’s almost a boxing match every time and I really cannot wrap my head around it. 

I wish that were the end of the weirdness. At home , SG seems to forget that toilets even have to be flushed. All throughout the day we will go to the bathroom and be greeted with turds when we lift up the toilet seat. I just don’t get it! I guess I should just  be grateful that we are past pooping in our pants.

And this concludes the first of many tales of the shit my daughters do.