I didn’t honestly know what to title this. Didn’t know if I could do this or would. Open myself up even more to the world. It is so scary do so. I isolate myself from the world because the world is full of pain. There is no sane, unselfish reason for me to be here writing. Families have been violently ripped apart in the past month or so, whether through acts of evil or a natural disaster. And here I am feeling sorry for myself. Disappointed in myself. Scared. Anxious. Depressed. Panicking. I woke up tired this morning but has a mission. Get more done on my to do list. Even he a small setback but didn’t let it get me down. Everything was fine. I was fine. And then I wasn’t. Pretending that my husband not getting a better job is okay. Avoiding through laughter and deferrance my true feelings on the phone with my aunt. I didn’t realize until after that I had been pretending. That is when it me like a Mac truck. Like a tornado.
This is what my life looks like almost every week. A rollercoaster. It sucks. It makes me more depressed and more anti- me. I’m 47 and I’m scared of people, life, driving in the winter, going away without my husband and safety net for four days. I want so bad to tell him how I feel. Tell someone. I told God and for a short time I felt nothing. Then it happened again. How dare I complain about staying in hotel a few hundred miles away all by my lonesome. How dare I complain about an opportunity that will offer us health insurance and hopefully a retirement plan when the job where my husband works offers nothing but headaches, stress and a paycheck that covers our immediate bills and food. Even now I’m like, what is wrong with you. You sound so whiny, unappreciative and selfish.
Welcome to my world.
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