So I wrote a blog. I’ve been writing them for a year now. You know, with all my free time whilst I raise twin toddlers. I occasionally sit down between cooking meals, changing diapers, doing laundry, cleaning toilets, not sleeping, etc... and throw together some ramblings about my short comings. My mental illness, former addiction, parental failings, sin in my life, you name it. That’s what I do. I am an open book. I’m not actually whining, contrary to what some might think. I’m just not ashamed. I’m not afraid to be transparent. I just share who I am, faults and all.
Two weeks ago I was tired and frustrated with all the continually and sometimes judgmental and contradictory rules of parenting and my own inability to keep up. So I finally chose to write about it. And most people got it. Most.
Mother of sanity...
It’s memorial weekend. We are up at the cabin with family. A time where we are supposed to be resting and relaxing. A time of thankfulness. A time of remembering those who have given their lives for our freedom.
My husband has been working overtime and doing freelance work so we’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks. We even bought our twin two year olds their first fishing poles and planned a treasure hunt.
And then there’s me.
A massive ball of, “just take me to the sanitarium."...
It's been a shitty couple weeks. There it is. I swore. I’ve been doing that more than usual lately. Out loud. So if that is happening in my daily life, why wouldn’t I share it here? But it bothers me so much it cripples my mind. Self flagellation immediately ensues. That I am worthless. I can't even control my stupid mouth. I never have been able to. I live in one constant moment of open mouth insert foot. It's better I not leave the house.
I love Jesus. I do my devotions. I go to church. And I still swear. But I feel worse about cursing then I do about over eating, or about talking negatively about something someone posted on facebook, or that white lie I told last week, or a family member I still haven't forgiven...
I used to spend a lot of time drinking alone in bars. On a daily basis. I told myself that only sad alcoholics drink alone at home. This somehow made my addiction feel slightly less pathetic. I would sometimes rotate locations on different days of the week so as not to arouse suspicion. I would spend hours pretending I was working hard on my computer because I was going to solve human trafficking. I was going to end world hunger. Me. News flash ... I wasn’t working...
I thought about killing myself again today. Not the first time and likely not the last. Some people have Cancer. Some people have Aids. I have a mental illness. I cannot qualify it’s seriousness or pain. I just take my medication and pray that it does not take my life. Many of my friends don’t even know this about me. Surprise.
There are no parades. No colored ribbons. No t-shirts. No races to champion the cause. No soap boxes with celebrities on bullhorns. Just a stigma. Just the shame...
"Parenting is easy. Said no person ever.” Love, my dear friend Christy Cass
This was recently texted to me. I had just gotten done panicking, wanting to know when her kids stopped napping. This is not a joke. Not an exaggeration. In my head the ship was going down and we were all going with it. The entire world was ending and there was nothing to do about it. Life as I knew it was over...
Recently I went on a vacation to South Beach, Miami. I stayed at a place right on the beach near the pier, the most affluent and expensive part of town. I was able to do so because of a deal I found online and a free flight voucher, not because I’m wealthy. I mean, I still get groceries from the food shelf.
It felt weird. It’s the second time I’ve been there now. Vacation feels weird, actually. I don’t do vacation. I don’t do relaxation. I find that I am fairly incapable of doing just nothing. of just resting.
This is a problem...
2015 was a ______ year. You can go ahead and fill that in. With just about any adjective really. Here’s a brief break down of what we’ve just been through.
Cops killing civilians. Civilians killing cops. Worldwide terrorists attacks. Mass shootings. Mass abductions. Earthquakes. Floods. Landslides. Baby parts being sold. People killing people in the name of those baby parts. Refugee babies washing up on distant shorelines. Terrorists posing as refugees. Political scandal. Politicians with bad hair reminding us that humanity is a sad broken machine. History repeating itself in the most obvious and obnoxious ways...
We have become a nation, if not a world, of daily celebrations. There is a day for everything now. In fact, we just recently celebrated national chocolate day. Don’t get me wrong. I love chocolate as much as the next guy, but really? Really? It feels like all 365 days of the year are now assigned to some random thing that was pulled out of hat. And now it gets it’s own day. Can we just stop it already?
Not everything deserves it’s own day...
I have a box filled with cards and lists of people next to the gifts they gave me. Some are recent. Birthdays, showers, etc… Some are over six years old. From my wedding. In 2009.
It sits on a shelf in my closet. Unopened. Still. After all this time.
Why do I still even have these? As if after all this time I’m suddenly going to sit down and start writing out thank you cards. Dear so and so, thank you for the bathroom mat we actually returned for an ill advised set of white towels. White. Nothing stays white. For me, at least. Ugh...
