"Our family is just one tent away from a full-blown circus"

Below is what I made for Mom & Dad's return from the South:

Is anything misspelled?  Because I can stare at this thing for hours and swear "Circus" or "Our" is misspelled.  I could drive myself insane because it sure as hell isn't a far leap for me to get there.

So Mom & Dad are back and I think there's an adjustment period for everyone.  For them, obviously, trying to remember where the heck Mom keeps the plastic baggies or where Dad puts the recycling.  Is this the beginning of their decline?  Nope.  I think that started awhile ago.  :)  For me, because I'm not used to someone popping over whenever they get it in their head to do so.  I don't have any unannounced visitors all winter and then suddenly I do.  It's a bit of an adjustment for me, too.  I don't do well with interruptions.  Or rather, if I'm already doing something and am interrupted, that's ok.  If my plan is to literally do nothing and I'm interrupted, then I get some serious anxiety.  I need sleep.  Naps are important.

Remember when we were kids and all we wanted to be was a grown-up?  Yah, me neither.  I want to be a 5 year old again.  Someone just take care of me.

It isn't like I'm doing nothing.  I've applied for jobs, which I have received phone calls about and will, hopefully, have interviews soon.  I have Medicaid.  I have food stamps.  I'm walking a lot with friends (exercise and not isolating all in one)!  I'm still working out.  I'm cleaning.  I'm reading.  I'm still in therapy.

Funny story - a friend of mine wondered if he should start therapy and my response was, "Well, I've been in therapy on & off for over 20 years....not exactly a ringing endorsement".  Seriously. Over 20 years.  Why has none of it sunk in?  Instead, here I am, yet again, attempting to work on my self-esteem and seeing my value and worth in this world.

*sigh*

I'd rather just read a good book.

"Would whoever has my voodoo doll give it a rest?"

My jaw is jacked up.  For about a week now, I haven't been able to open it wide enough to take a proper bite of food, which is sort of a good thing because there's less chance of choking on a teeny tiny piece of food.  However, it took me an hour the other night to eat my dinner.  An hour. Ridiculous.  And I never realized how many different positions I put my jaw in while I'm brushing my teeth.  Who knew? Now I'm lucky to get my mouth open wide enough to stick the damn toothbrush in there.  I spent an hour the other night scouring the house trying to find my mouth guard.  I haven't had to wear that thing in years.  Certainly not since I moved to my little hamlet.  So, yah, I spent an hour looking for it in some of the weirdest places because who the hell knew where I'd packed that damn thing.  You know where I found it? My nightstand.  Because that's the most logical place for it to be, however, I was going on the assumption of illogical.

I miss yawning.



I realized this morning, after a Garfield incident, that I really am a good person....and here's how I know.  For some reason, Garfield has taken it into her head that the most comfortable spot on my oh-so-comfy queen sized bed is on my damn pillow or on my head.  WTF?  I swear...that cat...  So this morning, I was dead asleep when Garfield either jumped up into my face or walked on my head because I only woke up enough to shove her off the bed.  That didn't end so well.  She didn't really go off the bed...she just sort of fell into the crack between the mattress and the bed frame.  So the right half of her body (legs) was in the crack and the other half was just kind of flailing around.  I jumped up, turned on the light, moved the nightstand out of the way and attempted to get her out without causing any more damage....because I was sure her leg(s) was broken, she was howling so loudly.  She's fine.  But I felt so much compassion for her in that moment and every moment after (I haven't stopped apologizing and giving her treats and petting her and cuddling her) that I have to be a good person.  If I were a bad person, I'd've just let her figure out how to get out of that tricky spot her damn self because it was her own stupid fault anyway.  But it was my fault and I helped her and I will keep making it up to her....until the next time she pisses me off, anyway.



I had my unemployment interview with my former employer and IWD on Friday.  I don't hold out any hope I'm going to get unemployment, but I handled it better than I thought I would.  I did get Medicaid so at least I won't have to keep paying $400.00 a month for health insurance.  I'm searching for a job and actually have a phone interview today....with a school district.  *eye roll*  Kids.  Yuck.  They must be desperate if they think I'm worthy of a phone interview.



Mom and Dad return from the South this week.  I've been preparing their house for their return.  I've basically mowed and cleaned the house and might mow again today because holy crap, the grass is growing fast.  I'm ready to see my folks after 3.5 months (is that all?!?).  It's going to be an adjustment...for us all, I imagine.  As I was cleaning the house, I reiterated to myself that if both of my parents die at the same time, I'm just going to light their house on fire.  It'll be like a funeral pyre, but for all their stuff, because holy tchotchke, batman!  The house isn't cluttered by any means, but try dusting every decorative item and you start to think you're in an episode of Hoarders.  And yet....for each item I picked up to clean, I thought to myself, "That's cute!" so I'm no better.



I mowed my own yard last night.  What would normally take me an hour took me three because of the neighborly chit chat that apparently had to happen while I was trying to get work done.  I spoke to one neighbor who had met and talked to Chris several times and so I had to relive those moments over again.  It doesn't help to talk about it.  Sometimes it just doesn't, I've found out.  Everybody says, "I thought there was something off about him..." Hell, I don't even see that.  I just see a flawed human being, like everyone else, who probably lied to me the whole time (yet....he could've really loved me, too - jesus, I'm delusional).  Damn if I didn't love and still love that stupid, stupid man.  Fucker.  See?  Better not to even talk about it.



I can't end on that note, so I'll peak your interest in a project I worked on the last few weeks for Mom & Dad's imminent return.  It's finished and as soon as they return home and receive it, I'll post a picture of it.  It was fun to do and fairly simple, just a long process. I love being semi-creative.

"Sometimes things go from bad to worse back to bad then awful, rotten, pure shit to pathetic & back to bad which feels ok."

I've been living in a denial bubble for about a week now.  Maybe longer.  It's time, tho, for me to face the truth.

I lost my shit.  Do you know where it went?

I not only lost my shit, I lost my job because I couldn't keep my shit together.  I tried.  I did.  I did everything fucking right.  I did everything I was supposed to do to prevent this shit from happening and you know what? It. Did. Not. Work. I still fell apart.  I don't know how it happened.

I worked out.  I ate right.  I focused on the positive.  I took my pills like a good little girl.  I went to talk therapy and worked at it.  I did homework!  I reached out to people.  I did not isolate (except from work).  I didn't dwell on negative shit or thoughts.  I did not drink.  I slept like I should...Except for 2 weeks when I slept, literally, all day every day...but that was as I fell apart.  Before that, I slept like I should.  Not too much and not too little. I did it all.  Right.

My therapist says not to think that way.  To think, instead, that if I hadn't done all of those things "right" that maybe my fall would have been worse.

Really?

I guess she could be right.  I'm not suicidal.  Those thoughts are just fleeting...there and gone just as fast.  So, yah, that's a positive.  Though, wouldn't everyone be better off if I just didn't exist anymore?  Hard not to go down that road, but like my therapist says, I have to stop the negative thoughts.  So, I'm trying.  I'm really fucking trying.

And that's why I haven't talked about any of this with anyone...except Mom & Dad, who responded so lovingly and I think, "I don't deserve them.  They deserve better than me.  Everyone deserves better than me."  But even my parents only know a little bit...

I've sidestepped discussing this with everyone.  My coworkers want to know what's going on.  My friends want to know what's going on.  My brother doesn't even have a fucking clue.  This will be the first time I've faced what's happening head on.  Admitting it is the first step, right?  Well, I admit it.  I. Am. Fucked. Up.

It scares the shit out of me to talk about it because then my bubble disappears.  I have to face facts instead of floating around in this pink, glittery, falsely happy, comfortable bubble.  I am unemployed.  I have no money.  I have no income.  I have bills to pay.  I'm at a loss. I am lost.

And I fucking hate feeling this way.  I hate that I am not normal.  I hate that I have such god-awful anxiety, I feel like I'm going to throw up every minute of every day.  I hate that I talk like shit to myself, that I think I am shit, that I'm not worthy of anything good, and that I'll never be "good enough".  I hate that I cry.  I cry so damn much.  I hate that I don't love myself.  I hate that even when I try my hardest, it still isn't enough. I hate that I am such a fucked up human being.

So, now that I've admitted it and sobbed it out, I am going to attempt to....what?  Get my shit together? My poop in a group?  Jesus, I've become one of those people I look at with pity and think, "They just can't get it together."  I am them.  They are me.

What's the point?  What's the point of it all if I'm just going to keep hitting this depressing brick wall and getting knocked down and fighting my way back up?  I'm tired.  Of course I'm tired.  Wouldn't you be? Fighting this damn fight every damn day?

I want my goddamn bubble back.