I wasn't sure how I was going to handle this blog. A personal blog. A blog that really doesn't (and I don't want it to) have anything to do with my writing.
I have a life, such as it is. No, I'm not getting married. There is no man in my life anymore. There's been many deaths, but I've covered that and honestly don't want go ripping open those thin scabs. No babies being born, no purchasing of homes, or European vacations. No brand new car. No graduations, no milestones to celebrate or overcome.
So, what does that leave? Not a whole hell of a lot.
I am well aware my life is very insignificant. I think about that every drive into work. I think about that on my way home. I'm alone a lot, which gives me plenty of time to think. Maybe too much time. I start to wonder, what the hell? I'm almost at the half century mark.
Then I think of the hassles that are a constant in my life. I try to do something and have obstacle after obstacle get in my way. So many that sometimes I just want to give up. I think about that fact that I'm almost at the half century mark and wonder why I don't have anything to show for it.
Most people my age own their homes, have more than one car and are fairly high up on the corporate scale. That's stereotypical, but true. I have none of those things. Not that I even want the last one. I'm not interested in the drama and pressure of a high stakes job, thanks, but no thanks.
When I think about what I want most in my life right now, one word comes to mind. Peace.
I'm not looking to be rich, or famous. I don't need notoriety. Acknowledgment would be nice. Appreciation for what I do accomplish would be nice. A little help in my endeavors would be nice. But none of that is necessary.
I know I have mentioned many times in different places and to different people about feeling lost since my husband died. That feeling sometimes brings on panic attacks that have me gasping for air, my heart thundering and fearful that my life is going down the drain. That I cannot take care of myself and certainly not my son. It always has a desperate edge to it. And I end up holding on tighter to things I don't even need to hold onto. Unwilling to let anything go because I've already lost so much.
And as I write out my frustrations, woes and anger and read back through it, one thing becomes quite clear. I'm feeling sorry for myself. Loser, idiot, moron and waste of space. These words I use for myself and think, I'm on such a pity party.
But the hard part...is getting past that pity. I don't want to feel sorry for myself. I don't want to be a loser who can't do anything right. So, I try really hard to tell myself to put on my big girl panties and get things done. Most of the time, it doesn't work. And, to add to my worries, I vomit out all these feelings and, yes, post it on my FB page and then wonder if everyone I know is rolling their eyes and annoyed that I'm not some happy person. It's a known fact that people in general will avoid unhappy people. Will my problems eventually drive everyone away?? That scares me too.
I'm sure I could be diagnosed as clinically depressed (and it does run in the family, my mother being a prime example). But I'm not interested in counseling (especially group counseling, no way!) and I'm not interested in drugs either. When I really think about what could make me happy...or at least content, it's really a very simple thing. And the basis for all my other worries. Money. So shallow. *shakes head* But nearly all my worries are money related. The only other worries I have that aren't are my family and my health.
So where does all this leave me? In a dark place that seems impossible to dig out of. In a place where everything seems insurmountable. In a place where every decision I make I question. In a place where the pressure bearing down on me feels as if it's going to crush me.
Not a good place to be.
I have a life, such as it is. No, I'm not getting married. There is no man in my life anymore. There's been many deaths, but I've covered that and honestly don't want go ripping open those thin scabs. No babies being born, no purchasing of homes, or European vacations. No brand new car. No graduations, no milestones to celebrate or overcome.
So, what does that leave? Not a whole hell of a lot.
I am well aware my life is very insignificant. I think about that every drive into work. I think about that on my way home. I'm alone a lot, which gives me plenty of time to think. Maybe too much time. I start to wonder, what the hell? I'm almost at the half century mark.
Then I think of the hassles that are a constant in my life. I try to do something and have obstacle after obstacle get in my way. So many that sometimes I just want to give up. I think about that fact that I'm almost at the half century mark and wonder why I don't have anything to show for it.
Most people my age own their homes, have more than one car and are fairly high up on the corporate scale. That's stereotypical, but true. I have none of those things. Not that I even want the last one. I'm not interested in the drama and pressure of a high stakes job, thanks, but no thanks.
When I think about what I want most in my life right now, one word comes to mind. Peace.
I'm not looking to be rich, or famous. I don't need notoriety. Acknowledgment would be nice. Appreciation for what I do accomplish would be nice. A little help in my endeavors would be nice. But none of that is necessary.
I know I have mentioned many times in different places and to different people about feeling lost since my husband died. That feeling sometimes brings on panic attacks that have me gasping for air, my heart thundering and fearful that my life is going down the drain. That I cannot take care of myself and certainly not my son. It always has a desperate edge to it. And I end up holding on tighter to things I don't even need to hold onto. Unwilling to let anything go because I've already lost so much.
And as I write out my frustrations, woes and anger and read back through it, one thing becomes quite clear. I'm feeling sorry for myself. Loser, idiot, moron and waste of space. These words I use for myself and think, I'm on such a pity party.
But the hard part...is getting past that pity. I don't want to feel sorry for myself. I don't want to be a loser who can't do anything right. So, I try really hard to tell myself to put on my big girl panties and get things done. Most of the time, it doesn't work. And, to add to my worries, I vomit out all these feelings and, yes, post it on my FB page and then wonder if everyone I know is rolling their eyes and annoyed that I'm not some happy person. It's a known fact that people in general will avoid unhappy people. Will my problems eventually drive everyone away?? That scares me too.
I'm sure I could be diagnosed as clinically depressed (and it does run in the family, my mother being a prime example). But I'm not interested in counseling (especially group counseling, no way!) and I'm not interested in drugs either. When I really think about what could make me happy...or at least content, it's really a very simple thing. And the basis for all my other worries. Money. So shallow. *shakes head* But nearly all my worries are money related. The only other worries I have that aren't are my family and my health.
So where does all this leave me? In a dark place that seems impossible to dig out of. In a place where everything seems insurmountable. In a place where every decision I make I question. In a place where the pressure bearing down on me feels as if it's going to crush me.
Not a good place to be.
