Sunny Days Always Bring Me Down

I hate when the sun rises and illuminates my bedroom, indicating that it’s time for me to get out of bed.

My phone no longer rings at 8 am. My mom is gone and she called me every morning to help me with the difficult transition from sleeping to being awake. How I miss that daily call. I know that I’ve mentioned this before, but I can’t seem to shake the need to repeat myself.

I get this really icky feeling that I can’t seem to find words to explain, which started during the summer of 2015 and has recently made a comeback. It’s dread, fear and panic rolled into one nasty emotion.

Is it a form of existential dread, wonky brain chemicals or what, I haven’t the slightest clue.

Some mornings are better than others. I come downstairs and take care of my dogs first, food and water for them, then I let them outside to do their thing. I make my solo cup of coffee and then use the restroom myself. I take my morning medications and when my coffee is ready, I go sit in front of my laptop and turn it on.

Just do the next thing, the grief group book advises.

My boyfriend sends me a good morning text and I’ll respond, as soon as I can think straight enough to form words. He’s the main person that’s keeping me going right now, my lantern in the darkness.


Today would have been my 10th wedding anniversary. How things can change in just one decade. This date means absolutely nothing to me now, yet it brings back memories of how happy my mom was to finally marry me off to someone she trusted, that promised to love and care for me.

Well, we didn’t know.


There’s no way to guess how many years I have left. Only God knows the exact date, time and circumstances. He even knows if I’ll lose my battle with my own self and jump off of a cliff when I’m 51.

Fuck, I am morbid. Steven hates it when I think like that, but I’ve never hid it from him. It comes with the package.

Yes, I still often wish that I could pop off sooner than later, but this is a thought that I’m so accustomed to having, I barely take notice of it anymore. Just like the tide, it comes and goes.

I read something interesting the other day, on how to deal with anxiety and other unwelcome thoughts…face, accept, float, let time pass.

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This book is on my reading list, but I’ve watched a few videos and read some of Dr. Weekes advice. She even recommended that suicidal ideation be treated with that same mantra, unless there’s an active plan being put into place.

These are all thoughts of a tired mind.

Well, then I suppose that my mind is pretty damned fucking tired, doc.


I think that I might start sleeping on the couch at night. Maybe a change of scenery will help keep that icky doom thing from laying its ice fingers on me.

I could use a break from it.


I don’t get to see my new therapist until December 5th. The woman who did my intake interview told me that there’s so many people who need psychiatric help and only so many providers to offer that assistance.

I’ve been going to my grief support group at the church every Monday evening, although there’s only two other woman, besides the two lovely ladies who are in charge of it. But they are all extremely nice people and I’m glad to have met them.

It helps somewhat to know that I’m not the only one who feels the need to share my grief instead of keeping it all to myself.

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It Starts Inside My Head

I’m really good at trying to destroy myself.

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Not with alcohol or drugs. Not by being promiscuous or by acting recklessly.

It all starts inside my head. The voice that whispers that I’m never going to amount to anything much, that I’m just a loser who can’t manage her own life. A woman who can’t even work, for fucks sake, that has to depend on the government and her daughter just to barely survive.

A woman who must have “abuse me” written on her forehead.

I’m free now, but there’s so much damage to sort through, I’m absolutely overwhelmed by it all.

He got to skitter away without a scratch and I cannot even begin to explain how much that pisses me off.

I canceled my doctor appointment earlier this month because I couldn’t get myself to leave the house and face my health (or lack thereof.) I rescheduled and it took everything I had just to show up. It started to rain so hard that the roads instantly began flooding. I started having a panic attack because my brakes are starting to get pretty wonky and I can’t afford to get them fixed right now.

So I just don’t go anywhere unless I absolutely have to or I’m with my boyfriend, usually in his car.

Because of my credit, I’ve been denied for every loan that I’ve applied for, even though it’s gone up 25 points within a year. This fuels the voice in my head that I absolutely suck ass.

I’ve been having the most wicked fibro flare for about two weeks now and it just won’t let go of its grip on me. I wake up each day with the hope that I’ll feel better and I’m so bitterly frustrated when I don’t.

I want to call my mom. I’ll forget sometimes that she’s gone and I’ll reach for my phone. Then the realization hits me hard and I start to cry softly.

I’ve missed two of my grief support groups now and I’m ashamed.

Do I even own a sense of humor anymore? Where did it go?

There are so many ways that you can destroy yourself. In my case, it’s an addiction to feeling like I’m a piece of worthless shit.

History Repeats Itself

I’ve decided to overshare, because if I don’t, I’ll go bonkers.

(Too late?)

My neighbor started using heroin again and he won’t be coming back once he’s done with detox and the group home, according to his heart-broken father.

I am sad. I’ll miss my young friend. All I can do is pray for him now, but I can’t allow him back into my life.

My daughter is really struggling mentally and I am scared. It seems as though history is repeating itself. I know that I worried the hell out of my own mother practically my entire life.

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Mental illnesses are not to be fucked with.

I’m having a hard time right now, but I have no choice but to wait until Sept 11th to see someone myself.

My daughter has a therapist and she’s on medication, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much. It’s just this continuous fucking battle and I honestly don’t know what to do for her. I do understand how she is feeling. I’m above her slightly only because I’m so much older and have more experience with these fuckers.

She has the exact same problems as I have.

I handed this shit down to my baby girl.

The catalyst? Her boyfriend broke up with her because they weren’t “growing” as a couple. I’d love to punch the little twit right now, but that’s not an option.

She misses her grandmother so much and she keeps asking me why she had to die.

How do you answer that?

Because that’s what humans do. We die. We all end up dying, there are no exceptions to this rule.

Because it was her time to die. God wanted her back. She had a good life and I reminded B that she brought her so much joy and love. My mom wanted B to always remember her and she certainly will. She made that dream a reality.

I was planning on going on a trip to visit a friend for a few days, but last night my daughter asked me to please not leave her alone right now. As much as I was excited about taking a break from reality for a spell, I can’t go. I had to break the news to my friend, who I know is disappointed, but I’m pretty sure that she’ll understand.

History repeats itself.

My mom spent 44 years of her life taking care of me and now it’s my turn to do that for my child.

I only hope that I can keep her safe from her demons.