That She Is Now Me

I have a few goals for the year 2020 (which I am saddened isn’t anything like The Jetson’s as I had imagined it would be as a kid. )

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No robot maids or tiny spaceships replacing cars. I have a dog named Maya, not Astro. But that’s okay, perhaps 2040 will see all of that come to fruition and if God is willing, then I’ll be 65 and taking my used space-mobile to the doctors instead of my used Toyota.

I like things simple anyway.

Oh yes, my goals.

  1. I’m going to try to write (honestly again) more often simply because I miss it and it’s good for my mental health.
  2. I’m going to be a bit more selfish but in the nicest way possible because that’s just the way I roll.
  3. I am going to finally live my own life and do what I want to do. (Nude beach here I come!) Kidding!
  4. I am putting my condo on the market and moving, no matter what others think or say. I need to wipe the slate clean and start over somewhere new. A place that doesn’t hold any memories of asshat and where the condo association can’t bully me anymore.
  5. I’m going to take therapy as seriously as a gout attack. I have some major healing to do, yo.

As an aside with the condo and putting it up for sale:

Once the lien was removed back in March (after a long ass 5-year payment plan to get caught up from when I first got sick and couldn’t work) I was all pumped because that meant that nothing could stop me anymore from getting the hell outta here.

Well, unless you count an extremely ill mother who wasn’t so nice to me when I told her about my plans.

It’s taken me months of anguish and questioning myself to make my final decision, although the condo association sort of made the process easier for me by threatening to take away my beloved Maya back in November.

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Look at the love in her eyes.

Um, no. She isn’t vicious, you fucking assholes. She barks. Also, she is not a Pit Bull as the letter said, she’s an American Bulldog. She is my baby girl and it’ll be over my dead body that they’ll remove her from me.

So now I have her on a choke chain and a thick, expensive leash. Since I’m both of my pup’s main caretakers (the kid is rarely home) you can imagine how difficult this is for my chronic pain.

In and out. Stand there, watch them sniff the ground. It’s cold outside, hurry up. This happens every 2-3 hours and IT BLOWS.

I dream of having a fenced-in yard where they can run free and take a poo far away from my nostrils. I will happily cry when that day comes if God is willing.

My mom’s last say on the idea was that I’d be stupid to sell the condo and move. I had it made in the shade here.

Ouch. That really hurt but I was totally used to it, especially the last couple of years of her life.

Well, I suppose now I’m willing and not as scared to risk being a total dumbass. I don’t see why I should stay stuck in a place that feels constricting and where I’m not comfortable.

This isn’t my home. It was my prison for years and I loathe being here. I’m not being dramatic. It doesn’t even matter if I had the money to spruce the place up and bring it into the 21st century, fix my furnace and having a new central air unit installed.

Nor will any amount of sage or paint do the trick.

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I’m sorry mom. I love and miss you terribly but I need to do this for my own well-being. If the whole enchilada blows up in my face, then so be it.

I own the condo, the deed is solely in my name. The ex-hubby signed off on it years ago after he got into a car accident, in which he ended up being sued for $20,000.00. Even so, he had no interest in fighting me for his cut at the divorce hearing. All he wanted was Maya and boy did that piss off the female judge.

Well, that and bringing his fiance with him, but that just shows his lack of class and morals.

She’s my dog, you pansy-ass bitch of a sad excuse for a man.

Anyway, I’m tired of listening to the voice in my head that whispers, no Mer, you can’t do that.

Everybody else can, but you’re the exception to the rule.

I’ve been practicing so hard, telling that low murmur to stifle itself.

I can start over, I can have a redo. I will never get better in the house where I got sick. Why should I have to continue to feel imprisoned and left with the residue of an abusive marriage when I have the opportunity for something brand new?

Because it’s the safest thing to do, that was my ma’s angle. She was always trying to protect me and often went overboard with it. I feel as though she viewed me as quite delicate and not able to make logical, adult decisions.

But I don’t want to play it safe anymore, at least not when it comes to this. Like the Dixie Chicks sang:

She needs wide open spaces
Room to make her big mistakes
She needs new faces
She knows the high stakes

That she is now me.

Grief Sundae

Grab a bag of confetti you guys, for tomorrow is the first appointment with my new therapist!!

Um, yeah. Which I’ve been waiting for since fucking July when I decided gee whiz, maybe I should go talk to someone because my mom just died rather traumatically, my ex-husband keeps poisoning me from afar, not to mention that I already have an ass load of mental health problems to take into consideration.

So let’s make her wait ON HER OWN for a few months and you know, I can always go to the ER in case of an emergency.

So they can lock me away in the funny-farm and I can weave baskets for everyone this Christmas!!

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Wishing you a happy holiday season from Nutberry Farm!

Since I now compare every mental state that I’m in with how I was back in the spring/summer of 2015, at least I am ME.

(Anyone who suffers from mental health issues will understand what I mean.)

I am (mostly) one with reality, although it’s touch and go sometimes when my anxiety is high.

I don’t wish for death constantly, I just sometimes wish that I wasn’t here to begin with.

I don’t dream that monsters are trying to kill me and I don’t spend hours obsessing about one thing or another.

However, I am always tired, I want to sleep a lot, I procrastinate like crazy and I MISS MY MOM.

I keep saying that to myself…like a mantra.

So is that like an obsession or a compulsion?


I haven’t really gotten angry yet about what happened to my mom. I keep waiting for that to boil over. Fun stuff.

It’s just the truth and I don’t wanna. (Tantrum time.)

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I don’t wanna celebrate the holidays without my mom. No music, no Santa, no trees, no gifts. Just screw it all this year.

My daughter is graduating from college December 15th and my mom should be there!

FUCKING DAMN IT.

I promised to keep living my life and to fight the good fight. But there are days when I just want to stay in my safe, cozy bed and become one with that empty hole in my heart.


I am struggling with everything that I need to do right now. The pain in my legs and lower back is constant and I hate the bitter coldness of Ohio in wintertime. Fibro continues to be my foe and I wish it would GO THE FUCK AWAY.

Oh yeah, I am putting my condo up for sale. (More on that later and the thing that made me finally decide to do it.)

That might be adding to my stressed out, grief sundae right now, but knowing how I LOVE to put shit off, I need to follow through or else I will pitch the entire endeavor in the trashcan and then throw a Molotov cocktail in behind it.

No, it needs to be done. As difficult as it might be, it’s an integral part of ending the asshat era and moving on.