Life. . . I think?

Tonight I sat down and tried to continue writing about all the trials I’ve overcome in life so far. I didn’t get more than a few sentences in before it started sounding like a lot of things I’ve read before; foster care, dad in prison, mom on drugs. I just can’t write about that.

My life isn’t one giant tragedy; it is an ongoing train wreck full of wonderful, stupid things that only mean something to me. Why bore my readers with some sob story about a kid who was mom to all siblings until CPS intervened?

Back to the topic I really want to cover, “Life”, or rather “Living.” What does it mean to be alive to you? Happiness, greatness, money, inner worth, degrees, family- What does happiness mean to you? I have read so much lately here on Word Press, all fairly small poems about self loathing and hatred, and I wonder how many people are just sad?

Let me introduce you to one of my definitions of sad; “Believing no one around you cares, or even that what does it matter if anyone cares?” That kind of sad, the sad that doesn’t slap you in the face but weighs you down like wet clothes in the middle of summer. I have been there at that level of sad many times my life so far. I don’t always know what the trigger is, though I do speculate it is the depressing music I listen to. I can’t help it, I love sad songs!

Life, in my opinion, doesn’t always feel worth living. NOW WAIT BEFORE YOU BLOW UP!! I’m only saying this because it is how I’ve felt, in my slumps of depression. Life seems to pointless in those slumps, as if I am reaching for a glass that is two inches above my height (I’m 5’2”) and on the edge taunting me.

EEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!

Pause

My Depression Experience

Eh hem. Eh hemm. No one listens.

Or

ME: Awkwardly looking down, trying to avoid eye contact because I don’t know what to say. (She thinks she is so much better than I am that she can’t even talk to me.) Says SOMEONE (no names)

ME: In a great mood!!! So happy! Let’s write a poem about how happy I am!!

 

 

        “Blah blah blah I love this. Blah blah blah I can’t wait to do that. Blah blah blah good kids good husband. Blah blah I love my career.”

 

 

SOMEONE: Oh my god she thinks she has it so easy lets one up her so she can’t be that happy? Think she can out do me? Ha! Let me steal her dreams and THROW THEM IN HER FACE!

ME: (Paranoia at night in bed after watching my favorite show)

PARANOIA: Psst. Did you close the curtains; someone might be looking in at you or your kids. Did you lock the car? Are you going to catch the flu? *cough inserted here* Maybe it’s more than the flu. Maybe you have….

A BRAIN TUMOR!!

It SURE is dark in here; do you need a light to hide away from the ghosts? (Logic inserted as I think they don’t just come out at night).

ME: Turns over and grabs phone to scroll through Instagram at people who are much more beautiful than I will ever be.

PARANOIA: She’s pretty and she’s pretty and that girl is stalking your page and copying you because she thinks it is funny. You only got two likes on this one, it must be because- WAIT! Shhhh. Did you hear that?

END

 

 

 

 

Not really, but it sure does get worse. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been asked this question.

Ehhh hemm. How can you love your kids and be depressed?”

BECAUSE I LOVE THEM! That’s how. They are both my other half, and yes that makes an impossible fraction but love is not defined or measured in scales that reality can conceivably understand. Depression doesn’t always mean self loathing, it just means believing something that may or may not be true and living your life by that “fact.”

After I quit my job I believed I was completely “useless.” My husband (poor Neil) could not convince me otherwise, because it was a thought that I believed was 100 percent fact. He could not make it better or make me believe otherwise because that was something that I had to understand on my own.

 

 

Wait. . .

 

 

Now he couldn’t make it better but I assure you, he/anyone could have made it a lot worse.

Example: In the past, during a bout of depression, someone tried to convince my husband the baby couldn’t be his. Why, because they believed the bird cackling in their ear.

Example 2: “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?! GO AND SLIT YOUR WRISTS?!” Yes, same person, same hate, also called me a whore.

 

Still to this day I wonder WHY I DIDN’T. That’s an awful statement I just made wasn’t it. You want to know why I didn’t.

Living is my choice.

I live for my children, my husband, and for myself. I’ve also come to realize that since that day, years ago, those words were only said out of anger. I wish I could’ve told them about how they made me feel in that moment, but it wouldn’t have ever made a difference, which leads me to my next topic.

 

 

Being Hated Isn’t a Bad Thing

 

 

How many of you have been hated? (Raises hands, feet, fingers and toes). How did you handle it? Did you say what you wanted to say or did you leave it be and walk away? I’ve been hated most of my life, including by my mom. Being hated isn’t a bad thing, most of the time you hate something so you stay away from it right? See, there is the good. Hate = Distance (Until you run into them serving you Floutas from Taco Cabana while you’re in your scrubs), it is about that moment when hate turns into empathy and you pretend you don’t recognize them and be on your way.

I’ve always handled hate one of two ways;

Way 1: I WILL PROVE YOU WRONG AND NOT SAY ANYTHING BUT FLAUNT IT

Way 2: I will smile at you and pretend you are one of my children that I have to love, even though you just poured your bottle of milk down the vent and stomped 3 crackers and a banana into the carpet.

Pause Again

 

My Wonderful Hate Story

Feat. My Mom

 

ME: 8 years old, told to make my brother some breakfast biscuits. (he was 2) There were only 4, I made him two and I gave myself two.

MOM: YOU FAT ASS WHY DIDN’T YOU FEED YOU’RE BROTHER FIRST! YOU KNOW HE EATS MORE THAN JUST TWO! CAN’T YOU STOP SHOVING FOOD IN YOUR FACE FOR TWO G** D*** SECONDS! F***! I HATE YOUR DUMB A**!

 

Let me just pause for a moment.

.

.

.

.

I still remember that like it was yesterday. No one ever expects to hear that from a “parent” figure.

 

Continued

 

ME: Dating (Mr. X) in high school, holding hands, writing notes, texting and well, that’s about it. Not fixing to be knocked up so well you can guess why . . .

GIRL: Let me just sleep with every guy she dates because I want all the attention then call the cops on her (I lived down the road unfortunately)because her grandmother and her are spreading lies about me on Facebook.

 

END

 

Now wait, I know that sounds like a bold accusation but this is true unfortunately. I don’t think a single relationship in high school lasted more than a week top before she spread her legs. (Same girl from Taco Cabana as a side note) Oh, and the case was dismissed because the “lies” about her on facebook were confirmed as not slanderous and stating simple fact that she was indeed “sleeping around”, which she then claimed that she was raped.

Again, case was dropped, but in the end it was my entire fault.

 

Life

 

Life, this thing we do where we breathe in and out between laughing and crying, this is worth it. For every tear we cry and every hurdle we clamber over, there is a very soft tissue and a beautiful shiny rock that we are greeted with. Beauty in all those situations wasn’t apparent at first. I don’t think anyone in their right mind could play devil’s advocate in the situations I described until after the fact.

Now as for paranoia and depression, it is not a choice to have it or to ignore it. The choices come after realizing the only person who can save you, is well, you. You have to believe that past that day there is some kind of rock just waiting for you, and who knows, maybe one day you’ll polish all of your hard earned rocks into diamonds and glisten brighter than the ones who forced you to pick them up.

 

 

 

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