Trying to Suck the Funny Out

When I first started blogging in 2012, I posted at least once a day. I think it was mostly because I needed something to do with myself that made me feel somewhat productive. (And not just a loser who couldn’t keep her damn job.)

I was waiting to be approved for disability and feeling extremely worthless.

But alas, the words stopped flowing. I realized that I just couldn’t keep up with such an insane pace. I started to write when I felt like I had something to write about, even if that meant days or weeks went by.

Or months.


I wish I had been doing this whilst I was away, but alcohol me no likey.

It’s amazing that I’ve known some of you guys for almost seven years. Blogging seriously saved my sanity and gave me something to be proud of. I’m not even talking about my follower count or how many likes a post gets. Just knowing that maybe I cheered someone up or made them feel less alone lifted my own dampened spirits.

I’m naturally good at four things; writing, cooking, being funny and driving.

Everything else takes a bit more effort. Like, math.

Fuck math.

But I haven’t been all that humorous in what feels like ages. I can still bust out a joke and see the humorous side of things, but damn if it isn’t often just a cover-up to hide my emotional pain.

But, you know, most of the funniest people in the world are depressed.


The more you know.

Yes, I use my sense of humor to distract people from seeing my damaged¬†psyche. I’ll admit it.

I was told so often as a young child that I was hilarious, so I suppose I started getting a bit of an ego. For someone who has sketchy self-esteem, it’s way out of character for me.

Like, if someone tells me that I’m funny, I’ll just shrug.

“Yeah, I know. It’s a gift.”

Look at me, being all smug and shit.

If I completely lose my sense of humor, then there’s something seriously wrong with me. Please call the nearest comedian and then throw chocolate bars at me, while playing a video of George Carlin doing stand-up.

Life has desperately tried to suck the funny out of my bones.

(We all have our stories of sadness and woe, I’m aware of that, but this is my blog.)

I had mental health issues as a little girl. I saw my first psychologist at 8 years old. (I get a kick out of repeating that tidbit of info.)

I was an awkward and unpopular kid who attended a small, repressed Catholic school. The boys teased me relentlessly, the girls were all mean bitches and I was always chosen last for any team sports.

“You can have her!”

“No!! You can have her!”

“Oh man, we’re gonna lose. Thanks for sucking ass, Mer.”


No problem, I hope you break a vital body part.

I didn’t have a real best friend until I started public high school, but I sadly continued to be teased. Even on my fucking graduation day, my two main tormentors for those entire 4 years um…tormented me.

I watched as my father died the day after I turned 12.

I was date raped at 19.

I lived with my 1st abuser, my offspring’s biological father, for 6 hellish years.

And on and on…you get the gist.

I’ve had good things happen. Great (real) friends, awesome parents, a beautiful daughter and finally a wonderful boyfriend who treats me so well, I wake up every day amazed that God put him in my life.

Life hasn’t been all shit on wheat toast and I’m ever so grateful for that.

But all of that bad shit, it loves to follow me around. It’s like having a slideshow of bothersome memories inside my head, on repeat. It doesn’t seem to matter where I am or what I’m doing. I could be out somewhere with my boyfriend Steven, having a lovely time. Just trying so hard to live in the moment.

All of a sudden, there’s a clip of my first ex telling me what a fat, ugly bitch I am.

Stupid, he whispers.

Kiss my ass, I whisper back.

“What?” Back in the present, my boyfriend asks me.

“You have a nice ass,” I say.

I’d like to end this post with some song lyrics, a little ditty by the great Tim McGraw.

One of these days I’m gonna love me
And feel the joy of sweet release
One of these days, I’ll rise above me
And at last I’ll find some peace
Then I’m gonna smile a little
Maybe even laugh a little but
One of these days I’m gonna love me


The Day After

The day after the funeral is the hardest.

The people who gathered to say goodbye and pay their last respects go on with their lives. Relatives that you only get to see when someone dies disappear until the next time. Family acquaintances give you one final hug and tell you to stay strong.

There’s leftover food in your fridge that you have no desire to eat. The scent of the beautiful flowers from the people who cared about your mother but couldn’t be there in person remind you of the funeral home, triggering tears to form in your eyes.

But what doesn’t? Even the sound of the birds singing outside makes your heart ache, while silent tears run down your face.

There’s the first true realization that there won’t be another morning wake up call, her loving voice on the other end checking to see if you’re awake yet, if you made it safely through the night.

There’s a sense of loss so deep, it’s physically painful, like someone sucker punched you right in the gut. You struggle to take a breath, just like she did at the end.

You try to distract yourself by watching silly videos and reading, but what you really feel like doing is screaming up towards heaven that you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this, praying for signs that everything will somehow eventually be alright. You’re seeking anything to take this hollow feeling away, this desperate soullessness.

You contact all of your people until one of them answers. Then they let you ugly cry, snot running down your face and almost close enough to reach your cleavage, hysterical and struggling to find the right words to express how utterly devastated you are, that you now have to find a way to keep on living without your mother.

Without your superhero.

She was more than just my mother and my best friend. She was the glue that held my small family together. She was the comforter, the mediator, the strongest, most genuine person that I’ve ever known.

And I honestly don’t know if I possess that same strength, because right now I’m just so lost without her. I’m scared that I’ll scatter into a million pieces and blow away into the sky, closer to where she is now.

And only she would truly understand how I long for her embrace.

November Morn Surprise


A post that I wrote a few months ago was published this morning on The Mighty. This is the 2nd time that they’ve approved a submission of mine and since it was so long ago that I sent it to them, I was quite surprised when I saw the email while drinking my go-go juice.

If you’d like to see it, please click “ here. ”

I hope you all are doing well.