Life around my house has been a challenge.
And challenge is a really nice way to put it.
If I wasn’t still scared my ex-husband’s attorney wouldn’t use this against me, I’d say I am ready to run away to Europe and never come back again.
The other day someone told me I was ‘bogged down’ –
and because of the ‘bogged down’ I wasn’t thinking correctly or reacting nicely.
Go.
Fucking.
Figure.
I am bogged down.
With kid challenges.
With anxiety issues.
With 2 full-time jobs.
With body issues.
With money issues.
With fear issues.
With boy issues.
I am bogged down.
And I have learned that people don’t really want to help.
They want to peak in just enough to gather enough information to throw it in your face when the time is right.
I am officially overwhelmed, tired, burnt-out and feeling more insecure than I have felt in about 5 years…which only exasperates the whole ordeal.
And if you do the math, life minus 5 years is right about the time my ex-husband walked out and left me hanging with three kids, no money, no house and not a whole lot of hope.
Maybe that is the issue again.
Hope isn’t hanging around much.
And I am at a point where I almost don’t care.
In loss of hope, I guess I’ve found a bit of gratitude again.
Gratitude for my Chicago best friend who offers the best advice, tools and resources while simultaneously making me smile and almost forget that life is outnumbering me in the win column.
Gratitude for my California best friend who will take my herd of kids at the last minute when my help bails out and reminds me why wine, yoga, inappropriate jokes are vital pieces of life. She is also the one who will (and has) drop everything to make sure that I know I’m not alone.
And since she knows I hate asking for help – she balances the scales by telling me that because she watched my kids, I have to watch hers, too. And that she can steal chocolate and milk from my house anytime she wants.
I think it’s a fair trade.
In my point of hopelessness, I am grateful for my friends who remind me I’m needed.
And I guess that leads me to the basement of my hopelessness.
I think I’ve lost hope because I’ve realized I’m more toxic than good and that perhaps – just maybe – all the bad stuff that has been thrown on me and thrown at me…all the names and the stories and the bullshit – is true.
Maybe I am that person.
Maybe I am the problem.
Maybe all this shit I think I am doing well and fighting for is really me just fucking it up for everyone else.
Maybe I need to just bow out.
Lay low.
Disappear.
Let the pieces of life slowly work themselves back into place without me around fucking them all up.
I think that in many ways, I’ve lost hope because just when I thought I wasn’t the person that I’ve been painted to be, I’ve been slapped in the face with the reality that I am.
And that makes me sad.
And it makes me feel weak.
And it makes me want to be alone.
Because of you are the reason that everyone else’s life is miserable, it’s time to move on.
But.
I’m trapped.
I can’t really leave.
If I had no kids, and I didn’t love them so selfishly, I would leave.
Pack a bag.
Leave the cats with the neighbor.
Give my 30 days and a final rent check to the landlord.
Close down the bank accounts and credit cards.
Leave.
But.
I can’t leave. And I can’t not exist.
But, I am tired of hurting people and I am tired of being said.
I am tired.
Hopeless.
Grateful.
But, overwhelmed and drowning in life.
Being pushed underwater by hands I thought were there to love me.
Gasping for air.
Realizing they are seeking freedom from me.
I guess it all comes full circle.
Bogged down – hopeless-grateful-overwhelmed and overwhelming.
I just want the cycle to end.
Not to find happiness. That is an elusive fairy-tail I’ve long given up on.
But, to find a place where I’m not toxic.
And the people I love most won’t be hurt.
Or damaged.
I want them to find peace.
And when they do – perhaps that is my freedom.
And theirs.
