Christmas Jello

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Despite my best efforts, I had an epic meltdown last night.

The thing that triggered it was that my daughter lost her Cleveland State graduation tickets. Drama and chaos ensued as we both tore through the house, looking in places that seemed ridiculous (silverware drawer) for them.

(She’s graduating on Sunday with a bachelor’s degree in Psychology and of course, I’m so proud of her.)

“You didn’t accidentally throw them away, did you?” she asked me, desperation and accusation in her voice.

Oh, the way children can break their mother’s hearts.

“Not that I am aware of,” I replied, trying to keep my hurt from showing.

Well, we didn’t find them.

It was too late for her to contact the college to see about getting replacement tickets, although she did try, all she got was a recorded message saying that the office was closed.

I reasoned that they would understand and give her more (she only needs 7) but she freaked out and said that they wouldn’t grant her any. Everyone was going to be mad at her and she was such a basket-case over the entire ordeal that I became quietly angry and absolutely speechless.

I went out onto the patio. In the freezing, bitter cold darkness, I took a few deep inhales of the marijuana that I splurged on for the holidays and then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke go higher as the wind took it away.

Fuck it. Fuck this.

I was angry, bereft, depressed and wishing that I could disappear up into the clouds with the plumes myself.

Once I came back inside, I started crying so hard that I thought my body would dehydrate. I was so scared, I was am so lost. I wanted to talk to somebody, but it was after 10 PM and I didn’t want to bother anyone with my intense grief and feelings of despair.

How can I continue to live without her? How will I fulfill the promise that I made to my mom before they wheeled her away for that last pointless surgery?

These thoughts turned my blood as cold as the ice that has formed in the outside water bowl for my dogs.

There will be an extra unused ticket for my daughter’s graduation.

There will be no present under the tree that says “mom” on the tag.

There will be an empty seat at the dinner table.

If one more person tells me that she’s in heaven now with God, I’m going to scream.

Everything feels different now and nothing will ever be the same again without our matriarch leading the way, with her intense joy of having us all together on Christmas Day. My mother loved Christmas and now that she’s dead, I have no desire to buy gifts or make Christmas jello-like she always asked me to do.

Red and green squares, topped with Cool Whip. Sugar-free due to being diabetics and the fact that nobody else ate it but the two of us.

The numbness that comes after death to protect us from the shock is hanging out above the treetops where my marijuana smoke still lingers, too high for me to reach and put on like a safety cloak.


The office has more tickets for my daughter to pick up after work today, so I won’t have to fight and argue my way inside like I was planning to do. I had nothing left to lose and no lack of ticket would’ve kept me from watching her graduate.

I need to be there to take photos and a video. I need to represent my deceased mother, who wanted so badly to watch her first grandchild achieve something so monumental.

Nobody seems to understand how I am feeling right now and I crave solitude so badly that I can taste it like the Christmas jello from last year, sweet on my tongue, yet this year, bitter in my soul.

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.

We Are

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We are the forgotten ones

Folded neatly on the chair

Left to sit and taken for granted

In a cruel world that’s rarely fair

We are the devoted ones

Who put others above ourselves

Allowing our dust to settle

Placed high upon the shelves

We are the sensitive ones

Who take everything to heart

Trying hard to toughen up

Within a soul that’s torn apart

We are the hopeful ones

That work hard to see the light

Wanting badly to run away

But continue to stand and fight

We are the brokenhearted ones

That weep while others stay dry

As though we were merely born

To curl up at night and cry