Annoying Mosquito

Sometimes, I just don’t want to be here anymore.

I’ve fought hard and continue to try to banish this unwelcome emotion and for periods of time, I’ve even succeeded. I’ve gotten too cocky about it a few times, thinking that I’ve finally accomplished what seems like the impossible.

But what’s really near impossible is being able to just talk about it with someone without scaring them so badly that they either:

A. Avoid me like the plague, which happens 89% of the time

B. Try to lock me up in the psych ward

It seems to me that suicide is becoming more of an epidemic because people just don’t want to get involved.

I would go back to weave some nice baskets if I honestly thought that I’d follow through with a plan to end this thing called life once and for all. I really would, even though the accommodations and quality of care were less than desirable.

They stopped my pain medications, gave me insulin when I didn’t need it, upped a med that was making matters worse and their idea of a mattress absolutely destroyed any chance that I’d be able to sleep, heal, rest and not wake up in severe pain every morning.

They also served me decaf coffee.


Yet as much as I fear having to go back inside, in order to save my life, I guess that I fucking would.

It helps me when I can talk about what I am experiencing openly without being afraid of the assumption that I’m holding a steak knife across my throat. 

I really just want somebody to listen to me and that was what my mom did, bless her beautiful soul.

Here’s the craziest thing…I can go a few weeks without the thought even crossing my mind. Actually, the idea of it absolutely appalls me to my very core and I’ll wave my hand at it like it’s an annoying mosquito (that I know deep down will be back eventually to suck at my blood.)

Since my mom died almost three months ago, the notion to bring on my own demise has come back around hot and fresh, just like my morning cup of caffeinated coffee.

I’m also astonished how my grief is being handled by the few friends that I claim to have.

They mostly avoid me like the plague.

It’s blaringly obvious (more than before) that I don’t have many people who consistently check up on my mental state.

Even then, what is there to really say?

It’s really hard for me to make friends and it’s always been that way. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a introverted empath or if it’s because I’m just a weirdo with a mood disorder.

Hell, it’s probably both.

Back in the old days when I still was able to work for a living, I socialized with my coworkers. Those relationships fizzled out once I went on disability, which my mom had told me meant that they really weren’t my friends anyway.

She always had a knack for explaining the world to me, especially when it came to relationships.


I’m starting to think that I’m just destined to be on again/off again suicidal. When I look forward at the big picture, it’s the one thing that loves to land on me, trying to suck me dry.


An Early Birthday Gift

My 45th birthday is coming up fast. (August 18th.)

It’s my first birthday without my mom. 😦

Nothing feels the same anymore. Celebrating birthdays and holidays brought her so much happiness. My entire family tries their best, but I know that we all feel the loss of our beloved matriarch.


I like to imagine that she’s there with us whenever we all gather together.

We tell stories, we laugh and we cry.

I started the grief support group last Monday. It was good. There was another woman who also lost her mother recently, so we sort of bonded a little. There are 13 sessions and it’s at a church about 10 minutes away.

After I paid the $15 registration fee, I received a workbook. Honestly, I’ve been so dazed lately that I haven’t really looked at it since last Monday, but I’m trying to be kind to myself and stop the negative self-talk. I just seem to run out of time to do all of the things that I want or need to do lately.

Busy little bee that I am, but I like it better than being a prisoner in my own home like I was for so many years.

I had my 3 month doctor appointment last week. When I got on the scale, I was shocked to see that I’ve lost a fair amount of weight since the last time I saw him a couple of weeks before my mom died.

My doc was concerned, so he ordered some tests.

Everything came back fine, so we agreed that it’s probably just due to stress and grief. I’m only a few pounds away from the weight I was when I got pregnant with B way back in 1996.

Seriously, I never thought that I’d ever have a doctor worry that I’ve lost weight. Until now, it’s always been the other way around.


I’m trying so hard to be humorous.

I had noticed that my clothes were becoming baggy on me. I’ve purchased a few t-shirts and pairs of shorts that fit properly, but otherwise I just wear what I have. I’m not complaining, I only wish that the circumstances were different.

August 19th will mark 33 years since my dad died and it’ll be 3 months since my mom passed away. It’s going to be a rough fucking day, but I know that I’ll get through it.

Thankfully, the support group meets that evening.

I feel like a teapot, I build up my emotions and then once the steam becomes too powerful, I start whistling (crying) nonstop for 30 minutes.

I pray daily.

I talk to her constantly.

I dream about her sometimes. Last night I got to hug her and I swear that it felt so real.

Maybe it was an early birthday gift.

A Long Decade

My mom always told me that finding a true friend in this world was difficult…but actually keeping one was even harder.


And she was right.

I try to go through life with the realization that the majority of people I befriend are going to end up being a transient part of my life. It’s just easier that way, especially now that I’ve vowed to stop chasing people.

I’ve worn out far too many pairs of sneakers doing that shit and my feet hurt.

I can count on one hand the number of people with whom I believe in enough to relay my innermost thoughts and fears to. I don’t write about everything that happens or the tragedies that befall me. I had a double whammy just yesterday and as much as I’d love to write it all down, they are not fully my stories to tell.

I miss my mom every single day, but at this particular moment, I’d give anything to be able to call her and have her soothing, loving voice on the other end of the line.

She was my one true friend, I understand that now. Sadly, a little too late.

I think that the young girl inside of me wants to find someone to link pinkie fingers with and promise to be forever friends.

But the middle-aged woman that I am understands that that’s a silly, whimsical idea.

So I just sit here and stare at the wall. I drink my coffee and allow the gamut of emotions to run their course. I’m much too tired to fight with them today.

It’s been a long decade and I’m looking forward to 2020, because the 2010’s haven’t been so kind to me.