Here I sit, in my Happy Place, but I am far, far from happy. I have no idea what is going to come tumbling out, nor in what fucked up order it will come out but I need to get it out. Loads of swearing is sure to be involved though so if you’re a sensitive snowflake and come across this somehow, move along you won’t like it here. I’m not a bit fan of editing myself whatsoever and I just type/say whatever it is rattling about up there inside this fucking endless whirl of thoughts and emotions I have for a brain.
Yay, today is much like yesterday: Crying, ugly, snotty crying a-fucking-gain as I started cleaning and tossing/boxing the things inside my happy place a little bit ago. Same thing as yesterday, my fucking life is like Groundhog Day. All of a sudden I realized, let me go let some of this out and then get back to it. And I remembered my old happy place was back and I could come here and safely unload my crazy.
CONFESSION: I’m more depressed than I have ever been in my life and that is saying a lot. I’ve been battling it with meds (which I fucking hate) and therapy for years now and all that is happening is I am getting further and further depressed. I’m also mad as FUCK, really fucking MAD. MAD at so many people, myself included. I’m this weeping, zombie, shell of a person pretending to be okay for the few people who care about me. But inside every day is a struggle not to just fucking end it all and along with that comes my head telling me I was a fucking asshole for calling for emergency service the night I had my heart attack. I had all the pills I’ve stockpiled, I knew I was having one, I had the water and was ready to just help it along. Go out a month before my 50th birthday just as my mother did before me. I so badly wanted to take all of those pills and just lay down and drift off into never-coming-back land. But there were my dogs and cats … all right there. Dixie in particular was extra needy and oddly vocal … my dogs once again saved me from hurling myself into the deep void of nothing that is death.
As soon as I walked into this house it felt like HOME, I’d never experienced that feeling before prior to that — EVER. Finally, I had done it. I fucking bought myself a HOME, a real home and I felt so happy knowing I could finally lay down roots and be safe. I planted myself and I planted flowers and a tree. I’ve taken care of the critters and creatures that call my home, home. A lot of work has been done to this house and I had a lot of ideas left of work I wanted to do or have done when I realized that this was my place to do whatever the fuck I wanted to do to it. If I wanted a pink kitchen, then I could have a pink kitchen. (I don’t.) I love all of my home’s imperfections. I love my gang of turkeys I’ve watched grow up, I love hearing the faint sounds of kid’s playing baseball in the parks, I love my neighbors (for the most part) and I love my yard. For me this house is just enough and that’s all I ever wanted in life for anything, just enough. It kills me that I cannot rent an apartment for what my mortgage is and my mortgage includes taxes and insurance. Not even a studio apartment and good luck trying to find a place who will rent to you when you have three small dogs and two cats. My dogs and cats are a non-negotiable part of my life, they are my family and without them, I really would be dead. My dogs have now saved me from myself twice in the past 5-years. My luck though, I’d live and end up like the beautiful young girl who was in the room beside me as I recovered from the heart attack. She attempted to OD on her prescription antidepressants and lived (as is typical of me I met her mother outside and chatted with her and I also would go visit her daughter at night when she would get upset and start crying out.) Not sure what kind of life she’s going to be able to have as she was clearly very brain damaged by it and being fed via IV and not able to move on her own. The day I got to go home her mom thanked me and said they were likely going to have to move her to a home soon. ???? I did hear the nurses call out there was a DNR order on file for her and also another order I can’t remember, but it wasn’t good.
Dog, I am so fucking sick of crying and I am more than fucking exhausted with the knowledge that I fucking have to start over, again! I’m 50-years-old (that hallmark birthday went without celebration or acknowledgement except for FB friends). Which is another topic altogether.
I think of finally having found the right team of doctors who are finally finding out all that is wrong with me. Which is another depressing series of recent information. Not only do I have fucked up blood, my heart is now officially bad and I have been further informed that I have Stage 4 Kidney Disease. Lovely.
I just want to be left to be in my Happy Place. Can’t I just fucking please, PLEASE, PLEASE have roots I do not have to rip up all the time? I want my home – I want to watch my lilac tree continue to grow. I want to see the memorial roses I planted for each of my dogs whom have gone over the bridge continue to grow. All of the lilies I planted and the other flowers. This year I was going to plant a bunch of wildflowers in the area I leave unattended for the hummingbirds, butterflies and bees. Whatever invasive weeds are over there are apparently good for those critters and therefore they are left alone.
Maybe I should start advertising on Craig’s List an hourly rate room for rent for cheating bastards — hard to find a hotel or motel that takes cash, ya know. Cheating bastards don’t want to have hotel/motel charges on cc’s in case their spouse should see. I don’t know what else I can possibly do and waiting for my appeal decision from Social Security Disability will take months, it’s already been 2-years.