Self Abuse. Bar Room Style.

Procrastination & Depression. Can you think of a more slothful and useless combination? I just called downstairs for one of my kids to bring me my thesaurus. They said no, now at least they won’t come up for an hour. They are clever like that and think I am dumb. I just took the upper hand though.

{Even though you are now destined for words immediately in the forefront of my mind}

Every time I write I sit down to write an essay, I feel like it will be my last entry. It is scary and intimidating for me to write lately. I have more stories to share and I know I have yet to experience so many successes, failures and loves. I think I may be at a peak of sorts. Like being at 25K feet on Everest and low on air, energy and adrenaline. My heart has been breaking on a daily basis – not only due to the end of a chapter in my life, but from trying to live this new life concurrently.

I am listening to a mix of soundtracks on the iPod while Somersby is muted in the background. I am hoping for, An Officer and a Gentleman, next. Anne Murray just started cooing for Urban Cowboy.

{Oh God, that does set a horrible stage for my tiny broken little heart}

I have been out of breath for the past week or so. Not the air depletion that happens while running a race, but the choking on a ball of dried glue in your throat type out of breath.  I continuously remind myself to take a deep breath and appreciate that I can.

I may not have a story, but I’ve got a handful of words to share. I want to share my clever banter with you, I want to tell you a story with peaks and valleys, something that makes you smile – maybe reminding you of something in your own life. I want to touch you with only my words. They are yours after that. The words are then part of your life also. That being my most intimate, without looking into my eyes. Not really knowing how my hands look against the keyboard typing awkwardly and quite loudly if I may. I have a candle lit because I smoke too much and don’t really like the smell of old smoke.

I may be as depressed as I have ever been in my life. Oddly so, I am doing the right things as suggested by both my psychiatrist and therapist. That is the hard part of this life lesson.


It is quite simply the old saying,”Wherever you go, there you are”.

I have been trying to morph and change and move and lose weight and cry and pretend that everything is going to be okay if I just fuckin smile.

With Verizon as my witness I cannot pretend I am okay anymore. I am very sad. SAD! It feels so gay for me to say.

{Do you know I can bench press a ton of weight? Big tough girl}

That is not supposed to be me–not the,”Sad girl”.

Denial plays such pivotal role in my life these days. Mostly just avoiding the obvious. Some days I find myself happiest thinking only of being held closely and loved by a man who I feel like I cannot have. I have come too far to run away into a fantasy of my own creation.

Reality is – I have responsibilities and cannot afford emotionally or financially anymore upheaval in my house. My family needs me; even if I am living in a condo upstairs; hiding my fears of failure and abandonment in front of a big screen tv. I really enjoy watching the tv and the freedom of my own space, I just can’t shake the loser feeling.  The spinster who took over her sister’s spot. I am sure none of this makes very much sense.

Some of that is my point today. My mind is off and something is different, a new stage of sad, or maybe some acceptance. I have been taking medication on a regular basis for a while and my doctor added Ritalin recently. I stopped taking it yesterday, ironically before my husband came in and told me that is what they think killed our friend’s 17-year-old son.

Although the appearance of physical calm was there while taking the medicine, as the days went on I was feeling worse and worse inside.  Coincidentally, all of my BDD issues became exaserbated and culminated in a big Leigh style temper tantrum ending with me physically beating myself.

{Bar room style}

It was a long time coming and the only downside is my cognitive awareness of the whole thing. My fascination with my blood all over the washing machine lid; as I had smashed my face on it. My truth is, I smashed my face and body on a lot of things. I’ve got bruises and my black eye is, almost gone. I am glad I opted for no stitches, the cut is nearly healed; even though it hurts like a bitch. My entire squash hurts and my ego is deflated. Not that it was there very much before; now I just feel beat.

Beat by myself. All Hulk smashed into believing I have got to get this situation – me – under control. I cannot wish the sad and the pain and the ugly away anymore. Not when my kids ask me how I cut my face and where did those bruises come from. I cannot continue to hide my sadness behind my in-laws and all of their problems. I don’t know what to do anymore. When I am in public I am continuously uneasy, within my skin and my mind. Not that this particular feeling is new – just amplified lately.

Procrastination just sits on my shoulders like a pair of anvils. Not only do I continuously run through lists in my head, I have started saying everything will get better tomorrow. Including me.

Simply put, tomorrow, sounds harmless; until a couple of months goes by and then a year. Before I could click my heels three times and go back to Oz – I was here, on my couch, depressed, saying it will be better tomorrow, that is here.

My solution until I get some new ideas is to do the basics and stay in my general home base area. Last night I had the bright idea that maybe I would take my kids to Sedona, the three of us could heal together.

My husband said “You could do that”, and then started to smile and chuckle a little.

When I asked why it was so funny, he easily and without judgement answered, “A couple of days ago you told me to take the kids away, you couldn’t deal with any of us.”

Humph. Aside from being really happy I am not waking up with my kids in a hotel across the country, I imagine it would make me feel better to be able to enjoy my kids. The way I used to, three or four years ago…

This heartache has gone on far too long. I will be taking some time for more therapy, more discussions about mental illness and medication this week and I will go to the park with my dog if she is feeling better.

Hopefully, the sun will come out, Tomorrow.

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4 thoughts on “Self Abuse. Bar Room Style.

  1. Not to be dramatic, but fuck-an-AYYYYYYY!!

    Okay, that’s all I had of Drama in my reply. Seriously though, maybe you’re just spending too much time in your head. Maybe the idle thoughts are what brings you down.

    Speaking from experience, my own thoughts plague me from moving forward. Or maybe you will render things differently. Whatever, just know I am going to keep offering my ear/shoulder for comfort until you accept one of them, or all. *wink*

    Always your pal and internet Angel,

    Toby. ❤

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