Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Making Yourself Forget Is Still Forgetting

I'm back, therefore it's safe to assume that it's been a bad day. I'm back, therefore it's safe to assume that I've been floundering again.

One bad day, I can take. One bad day in the middle of general despair and desperation, I end up crying bitter tears. At church. In the middle of the night.

I wish I could talk about this to someone but I really, really don't think there is anyone in my life right now who can understand what I'm feeling. I know how I will sound like to someone outside of my head and heart. My sons live with me and they see nothing but an occasionally cranky mom who prefers to "rest" than to work. They don't know that my "rest" is my way of holding the despair at bay. I've learned to empty my mind at will, to zone out and forget. I'm called forgetful but I'm grateful for it. Who wants to remember everything? Not me. I wish I could forget whole swaths of my life.

The same way I learned not to sleep while my husband was in treatments, I've learned to forget about the things that cause me anxiety. I "forget" about things I need to buy because I can't afford it. I forget about the things I used to want. I forget about the life I used to live. I forget about things I need to do. I forget about money because I don't like how I feel when I think about it.

And yes, I also forget about exercise because I no longer care. I'm an impostor anyway. I might as well look as bad as how I feel inside.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

How To Bite Off More Than You Can Chew And Choke

I give up, I really do. I can't handle this anymore. I can't talk to anyone about this because it's too embarrassing to admit that I really can't be here. This place isn't anything I can afford but I forced the situation because I was talked into it (Mom) and I hoping to create a space for the BF and I. But I know he doesn't like being here anyway, even if he doesn't say anything. I don't think he'll ever be comfortable with the boys around, simple as that. Also, turns out I don't really need the 3rd room as an office. I still find myself working on the floor and on the dining table.

So why am I really here? To make it seem to everyone that I'm okay? That I'm moving up in life? BS. What business do I have being here when I can't even manage the expenses that come with being in a bigger place? Cut the extra maid, cut the association dues, cut the aircon, cut the lights, cut the garden and watering of plants. Buy less, sell more, eat simpler.

I feel like such a fake, living in this address with a bank account of zero. This month, I can't afford my personal luxuries. This month, I did my own nails and cut my own hair. This month, I will massage my own feet. This month, I will be late on many of my bills. This month, I cannot afford to service the air conditioner so electric fan it is.

If the BF had the true picture of my life, he will just tell me it's my fault, that I have the capability to earn enough, that I'm just lazy and don't listen to his suggestions. How can I tell him that I can't "listen" to his suggestions because I'm so busy juggling everyday that I'm mentally fatigued and have no desire to work? That each suggestions costs more money that I don't have to spare? Worry eats up my insides and accomplishing regular orders is already a mountain to climb.

He thinks I diminish him (he won't admit he used the word small) when I tell him "you don't understand what I go through", but it is true. Truer than anything I know. No one else but me can know how I feel, how tortured my mind can be sometimes, how I just pray for the same thing on repeat: "money".