Of Dead and Morbid Things

My bills are paid. I have food to eat, a place to live (I wanna move so badly!) and a decent car. I have great people in my life who love and care about me.

I own at least 25 pairs of fuzzy socks. My dogs are loyal (although oftentimes difficult for me to care for due to my chronic pain ick) and I love them dearly.

Then why, I ask, am I so damned anxious and still experiencing suicidal thoughts, especially in the morning?

That’s a great question and I betcha that there’s a few of you who are reading this that might relate to what I am putting down here.

Why?

Some days are much better than others.

I’ll notice myself recoiling at the thought of dispatching myself. I have too much to do! It’s not over yet, I’m still kind of young. I still have a chance to make up my past mistakes and being so miserable for the greater majority of my 15 years with asshat.

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Getting cracks in at the expense of asshat will never get old. Expect to see more.

I have dreams to fulfill, jokes to laugh at, hugs to give and to receive. I might even have a grandchild someday, you never know. I’ve got tons of love stockpiled up to dole out to a good man who finally wants and deserves it.

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I think we look happy together.

I should want to be alive!

Living with fibromyalgia isn’t easy, in fact it’s downright exhausting. But seriously, it’s far more pleasant than fighting with a brain that just won’t get the fucking hint that life is still worth living.

I’ve tried it all going on close to ten years now. Group therapy, one-on-one talk therapy, outpatient, inpatient, drugs, supplements, kale suppositories…yet I continue to deal with this unwanted pest that keeps whispering of dead and morbid things.

Since I was just a kid, might I add. Is this just the way that I was made? Is there no hope to rid myself of these intruding, destructive thoughts?

Should I just learn to live with it and hope that perhaps in my next life I’ll be a perky, happy person who has never been depressed a day in their life?

*True story, I had someone tell me that a few years back and that they had no idea how I could feel the way that I did. All I could do was restrain¬†myself from saying, “bite me.”

It’s the worst feeling to chronically daydream about all of the various ways to off yourself.

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I have a “suicide buddy” that I contact when I start to get overtaken with these thoughts. It’s pure mutual understanding and no judgement, no overreacting and no threatening to call 911. We’re able to be as detailed as we’d like, without any restrictions.

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It goes both ways. Usually one of us are in better form that particular day to help talk the other one down.

It’s not an easy topic to openly discuss at the family get-together or with someone who will freak easily and call the funny farm.

I’m excellent at hiding it…after all, I’ve had over 30 years of practice.

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Still Nuttier Than A Squirrel Turd

I’ve missed me.

I mean being Mer…you know, over here on this ancient ass blog.

Starting a new blog was exciting and I’ll be honest with you, it’s pretty fucking great being anonymous. It was sort of like drinking wine out of a¬†Pringles can while tooting around a Walmart parking lot on a zippy cart.

Freedom, bitches.

And I’m pretty sure that I’ll be keeping the new blog, but I put my heart and soul into this blog for six long years. To keep it private felt like the right thing to do back in November, but I’ve since decided to reopen it again.

Emotions, right?

I’m hanging in there. Happy in love, probably for the first time in my life.

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I took my sweetheart out for his birthday on January 4th.

I’m still nuttier than a squirrel turd, still a chronic pain warrior (with a 101 bowling average using my 6 pound ball) who continues to swipe daily at my dark, icky thoughts. I’m still me, but I’ve changed so much.

That isn’t a bad thing, though.

I’ve missed this place and I’ve missed you guys.

This Used To Be My Playground

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I was notified by WordPress yesterday that I’ve been blogging for 6 years. I knew the anniversary was sometime in October, I just wasn’t positive of the exact date.

I used to be able to share every detail of my life without much of a problem. But nowadays, the idea gives me a bad case of the nerves.

Me no likey being open, raw and honest anymore.

Life changes…people come, they go, they break your heart, they stay, they love you, they hate you, summer turns to winter, children get older, suicidal urges take up brain space, handfuls of pills are taken with sips of Aquafina, husbands cheat…the earth continues to rotate and reality television stars become president.

I won’t be a drama queen and say that I’m closing up shop, but my days of posting on a regular basis are over with. If you don’t see me around much, I can promise you (about 87%) that I’m just peachy fucking keen.

I haven’t been a fan of Madonna since like 1988, but to steal the title of one of her songs, this used to be my playground.