Earlier this week I had Monday and Tuesday off of work, which would normally be great for most people. Not me though. I must follow a schedule on the weekdays, stay active and stay outdoors. After an exhausting night at work Sunday, I plopped on my mattress and go into my “hibernation zone” (as my family likes to call it). In my mind, I try to think about how I deserve to relax and rest, so I try to calm the racing, overwhelming thoughts of what has and hasn’t been done on my to-do list – whatever that was earlier on this week. I try to drown out the negative thoughts. I take my last dosage of medication for the day. Finally, peace. I awake Monday afternoon around 2pm, pissed off because I’m already feeling the guilt off not getting my day started earlier, so I persuade myself to fall back into a daze, and I do. No meds taken. Fast forward to the next night, Tuesday around 8pm – Why can’t I just be motivated? WHY? why ? why…? guilt, shame, embarrassment, isolation – it all comes along with the agony of knowing I just wasted two beautiful days inside, on my bed, watching repetitive tv shows and feel even worse.

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I still consider myself new to blogging and I started writing again about two months ago. With such low self-esteem it’s difficult to put my words down and let it all out sometimes. But, I remember when everything started crashing down for me. I miss my independence so very much. I’ve lost so much in the past year and a half. I went from being a full-time manager, a college student, a good friend, an independent 18 year old to a jobless, friendless, co-dependent, isolated, hopeless wreck. It sometimes kills me to think about how unstable my life has become. I think that’s what causes most suicidal thoughts. I feel as if it will never ever get better and my life will never get in order again. I grew up in an environment that made me want to strive to be independent, and of course, stable. It is so very hard for me to identify my childhood as “good” or “bad”, so I don’t. My mother and father were married 20 years, that is a long time. They legally divorced in August 2010. A divorce that was so messy, ugly and yet shocking. I do believe that they wanted things to work, they did try to work their issues out, but it was hell. Sometimes I think about what it’d be like if mom and dad were married, living in our same house that I grew up in. When they first divorced I seemed to be immune to the whole situation.

My mother drank bad throughout my teen years, she got worse and worse. I watched her alcoholism progress. The wonderful, loving mother I once knew was fading away with her vodka bottle, more and more with every sip she took.
And while my dad was the “Adult figure” who showed himself to be financially and emotionally stable, he let anger consume him. I often wonder if his mental and verbal abuse was intentional. He had to have known that he had serious anger and control issues, right?


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