I’ll Never…

Beautiful retro woman with red lips holding cup of coffee. black

I have to somehow accept the fact that my life didn’t pan out the way that I expected it to.

I’ll never be able to go back to how I was before my health conditions took over and made me so fragile, mentally and physically.

I’ll never be able to go back in time and listen to my instincts before I married the asshat.

I’ll never be able to tackle problems and situations with a mostly calm, collected mind without becoming overwhelmed, like I used to do.

I’ll never be able to clean my entire house in one day. (Become one with the clutter and dust!)

I’ll never be able to fully trust another human ever again. (Besides my extremely ill mother.)

I’ll never wake up again and not feel like a dog turd. (Unless I’m hooked up to a morphine drip.)

I’ll never…

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Lost Days & Panic Attacks

Every once in a while, I’ll have what I like to call one of my “lost days.”

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I had one of those yesterday. I was awake long enough to talk with my mom for a few minutes, then my boyfriend brought me dinner. I was able to stay coherent long enough to dine with him for a mere two hours, then right after he left, it was back to bed with my exhausted ass.

I’ll wake up if:

I need to go pee or poop.

Well, that’s pretty much it.


I had a panic attack Thursday night at the bowling alley. I support my boyfriend and his teammates on their all men league. Since I dislike aggressive men (and there are plenty of them there, full of competitiveness) I’ll sometimes find it difficult to filter out the combative vibes.

My boyfriend doesn’t really grasp my empath¬†ways and unfortunately, his alpha male personality towards others occasionally triggers me. I suck up feelings and sadly, I don’t always have control over it.

I took an extra dose of my anxiety medications due to the anxiety attack and I can’t help but wonder if the whole shebang helped manifest my “lost day.”


I am in desperate need of a therapist, but because of my health insurance, finding one that accepts Medicare isn’t all that simple, not to mention that if I did locate someone who did, I’d have to pay out-of-pocket for at least 20% (if not more) of each session. I can’t afford that.

I am currently doing the mental health stuff all on my own and it’s not going well.

I’m still having suicidal thoughts, although they are low-pressure. They come in and I entertain them for a few minutes, then off they go into whatever dark place that they came from to begin with.


My mom is sick, extremely sick. The doctors have no clue what is wrong with her, so there’s nothing that can be done.

It’s breaking my heart and most assuredly adding to my depression and anxiety.


Maybe asshat realized just how fucked up I am and that’s why he did me the way that he did. I can’t help but to feel this way, especially since he filed for divorce first and put down “incompatible” as the reason why our marriage will soon be officially ending.

I’m not going to the hearing. What are they gonna do, arrest me?

I’ll pay the money (it’s always about the money) and then that will be it. An entire 15 years of my life, all gone and flushed down the toilet.

I don’t want to fucking see him and his new girlfriend. If that makes me a coward, then so be it.

Ever Again

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I am full of sad stories

Of my own and other people

Gathered slowly over the years

In a pocket nestled near my heart

It’s near full to capacity, bursting

Of labored last breaths and traumas

Of tears and hours of tormented memories

So full, I feel like I might crawl into a hole

Never to be seen, to never feel despair

Ever again