I am so alone and lonely.  I have my beloved animals, but all my brain keeps telling me is that they are old.  They will die soon.  I will have no one after they are gone.

I am trying my best.  Trying so hard to just wake up every day.  To get out of bed.  To feed and medicate my precious babies.  They need me.  They have nobody else but me.  To have such a responsibility is stressful.  I am still awake.  Running out of money.  Calling in sick a lot to my job.  This stress is unbearable.  I lie awake Googling things like, “suicidal”, “depression help”, “unloved”.  I’ve been in this darkness before.  I will get through it.  I feel like every time I go through this type of darkness, it takes a few years off of my life…

I have failed at this life.  I am incompetent.  I am not pretty.  I am childless.  I am old.  I am desperate.  I am losing my faith.  I still believe there is a God.  I just don’t understand him at all.  I don’t understand how he let me be born.

What do I think would legitimately make me feel better and help me to keep going?  I think about this all the time.

  1. If I could just pay off my debts.  I owe about 13,000.  Much less debt than many people, but it haunts me.  It makes me sick.  I hate owing money.
  2. If I could get a massage a few times a week.  The kind from a real massage therapist.  I truly believe it would help me feel better.  More calm.  Less afraid all the time.
  3. If I could have a husband/boyfriend/partner.  Basically, someone to love me.  It would ease my burden immensely, I am sure.
  4. If I could get enough money to start school in January.  It is only $1500, but I just don’t have that money.  The course is five months long.  If I could successfully complete it, my earning potential would grow a lot.  I want to be self sufficient.  I want to financially take care of myself and my animals.  I don’t need much.  I just don’t want to have to depend on anyone else for finances ever again.  It is shameful and embarrassing.
  5. I would like to get a couch and table and chairs for my kitchen.  I sold my couch and dining set before I moved to my new place because there is far less space here.  I still love where I live, but I just need smaller furniture.  Furniture is definitely at the BOTTOM of my priorities.  I just think my depression would ease a bit if I could walk into my home and see a couch and table and chairs instead of lawn furniture. Like I said, way at the bottom of my priorities, but I do think it would lighten my mood a bit.

So that’s it.  It would not take much for me to feel better (I think), but this stress seems insurmountable.  I feel frozen.  I feel like I am drowning.  I’m trying to catch my breath and stay afloat for the sake of my animals.  I cling to the possibility of still being happy and loved in this life.  I wish I could just give up, but I’m not made that way.  I never quit trying for very long.

This isolation is unbearable.  I think the shorter days have exacerbated my feelings.  I keep telling myself to hold on.  Ride it out.  I will have a chance to rest.  I will be able to smile and laugh and have hope again.  It’s definitely harder to keep going as I get older…  This life is hard.  It is almost unbearable at times.  Is this feeling of isolation and loneliness common?  Other people I interact with on a daily basis seem like they are all coping.  They are all waking up at a decent hour, getting dressed, eating and functioning. Me?  I have difficulty rolling out of bed.  I rarely get dressed and I am showering every other day.  I struggle to even brush my teeth.  I need help, but there is no help.  My animals need me to keep it together, so I will for them.

Oh my god, this is dark.  I hate November.  Nothing but snow and isolation and loneliness ahead.  Does anybody else out there feel these things too?  Can anyone else relate?



So, my last blog was kind of a downer.  This one I’m gonna try to make more positive.  This is a conscious effort.  So, I have a LOT to be thankful for.  I’m gonna make a list and just keep adding to it until I get tired or can’t think of anymore.

1. I am so thankful I am not a mean person.  I can be mean.  I have the ability to size up someone’s weaknesses very quickly.  I can use those weaknesses to hurt someone very badly if I think it’s needed.  I often used this ability when I was younger if someone was mean to me.  I’d usually “nip it in the bud” quite quickly.  Now, I rarely feel the need to strike at anyone so viciously.  My mother could be such a mean person.  I learned to be my meanest from her.  She had a “niceness” that many people seemed to believe in, but it often wasn’t genuine.  She was “syrupy sweet”, almost nauseatingly so.  I know why a lot of people fell for it.  They didn’t have to live with her.  She did do nice things in her life, but, often she was so nasty.  I’m so thankful that I could decipher between the sincerity and the fake.  I’ve lost a bit of that ability through the years, but I think it’s because I don’t have to be on “alert” 24/7.  I’ve lost practice and I’m thankful for that.  So, yeah, I’m thankful I’m not mean.

2.  I’m thankful that I had wonderful friends growing up.  I chose friends who never got into real trouble.  I chose friends who did well in school, who worked, who behaved themselves.  I never got into really serious trouble with any of my friends and I am thankful for that.  My friends were good.  Their parents were good.  My friends were one reason I survived my childhood.  I don’t believe my friends had any comprehension of the things I went through, but I had them to look to as example of how I wanted my life to be someday.  Peaceful and good.  I still choose good friends.

3.  I’m thankful for my determination.  Even when I feel like giving up, I am usually not able to.  I may get into a horrible depression and feel like dying, but that feeling never lasts forever.  It may last weeks or even months, but eventually, I ALWAYS try again.  I always keep going.  I always get back up.  Through the years, I have felt myself weaken a little.  It has gotten harder to get back up as I have aged, but I always get back up eventually.  I’m thankful for that.

4. I’m thankful for my perspective.  It is rare and it is honest and it is real.  I will admit that my perspective can become distorted and inaccurate at times.  Thankfully those times are short lived.  I can see past someone’s clothing.  I can see past their smell.  I can see past their meanness.  I can envision many scenarios that could have contributed to a person’s appearance and behaviour.  I can see past someone’s dementia.  My perspective doesn’t necessarily mean that I understand a person’s behaviour, but I am often able to think of many scenarios that could contribute to behaviour.

I think I enjoy writing about the things I am thankful for.  Right now, my bran has hit that exhausted stage where your thoughts begin to melt together.  A sure sign I need to sleep.  So many more things to be thankful for.  I’ll try to pick up again soon…


Desperate for someone to love me.

I admit it.   I am desperate for someone to love me.  I need someone to love me.  I’m no different than anyone else who needs love.  Sure, people like me.  I just need someone to love me.  I need an adult human being to find me valuable and beautiful.

I am so tired of all the “Christian-ese” I hear every day.  “All you need is God.  Seek Him and you will have everything you need.”  I call bull shit.  Firstly, if all I needed was God, He would not have made the most important commandment in the bible to love Him and then, secondly, LOVE OTHERS.  Why would we even need to worry about loving others if His love was all we ever need?  God KNOWS we need to be loved, so He has commanded us to love one another.  To care for one another.  He has bombarded us with stories in the Bible about the good Samaritan and the prodigal son etc…  Even God knows we NEED love.  He made us that way.  I think His plan sucks though, if I have to be honest.  It is an awful plan because not all humans are loved.  Not all human beings are loveable.  But, even being unloveable, we still need it.  We need love like we need air and food.  But, while we all have air, I suppose we don’t all have food (which is another shitty “plan” of God’s, if you ask me.)

My anguish comes in cycles.  It is at it’s peak between September and January.  After January passes, things seem to settle down a little and I can sustain on my pets, psychiatric medication and good music.  Every year it is the same.  Let’s start with September.  What does September mean to me?  September means “going back to school”, which means HOPE of a better future.  Going to college means having parents who believe in you and WANT you to succeed.  Going to college means you were either provided the funds by loving parents OR you were at least provided a SAFE place to live while you work your way through school.  September is an agonizing reminder that I lacked the presence of anyone in my life who wanted me to do well.  I HATE September.  I HATE that I did not get to finish school.  I had such potential.  I am smart.  I am hard working.  I am determined.  Even with all that, I am still no further ahead than when I was 16 years old.

After September comes Thanksgiving.  The holiday where you get to be thankful for a lot of things.  I AM thankful.  I have so much to be thankful for that it would take a whole other blog entry to list what I have to be thankful for.  But having everything in the world does not replace being loved and having a family.  Thanksgiving is a stark reminder of how I am alone.  I have no family to spend the holiday with.  Not one family member thought of me or missed me.  Embarrassing and shameful.

Next will come Christmas.  When I worked at a hospital, I’d work every holiday I could.  It was a great distraction.  It didn’t matter that nobody wanted to be with me at Christmas time because I was working anyways.  No biggie.

Then, New Year’s Eve was just another punch in the throat.  Extra sleeping pill at 8pm to sleep the festivities away.  Again, no biggie.  And, as soon as all that is over and done with for another year, here comes my birthday.  I hate my birthday.  Just another reminder of the same old stuff.

After January, I’m pretty much capable of pulling off the rest of the year with the help of my animals, my kid friends, anti depressants and sleeping pills and the occasional doctor’s appointment.  I can get by.  Until September rolls around again.

I’m getting angry.  I’m pissed off at being unloved.  I look at some women who’ve been wanted by someone, gotten married and even gotten knocked up.  Some of these women are gross.  And yet, they still managed to be loved by someone.  How?  What is their secret?  I see women who are drug addicts who have managed to be loved and have children.  I have seen women who have not taken care of themselves and still managed to be wanted.  I have seen women who refuse to work and still, they are wanted by someone.  And, most of them also have families.  As I write this, I can envision people saying to themselves, “You sound like a snobby bitch.  No wonder nobody loves you!”

Even snobby bitches have people who love them.  I wish I didn’t care.  I wish it didn’t bother me so much.  All I want is to be loved.  I’m so pissed off that nobody loves me.  It’s not fair.  I love better than anyone I have ever met.  I live my life with such compassion and empathy.  I have sacrificed so much for others.  I love myself.  I want what is good for myself.  I take care of myself.  I value myself.  I am still unloved.  I am beyond desperate for an answer.  How do people get love?  I’m willing to get hurt by some blunt answers regarding my flaws if it will help me be loveable.  I wish somebody would tell me.  Maybe I could change that part of myself, if I try hard enough.  I just want someone to love me.

I guess it’s why I have a heart for unwanted animals.  That’s what I am too.  I may not find the answer, but I will die trying.  I feel like one of those scrawny, stray cats you see trying to shelter itself from the rain.  Cold, hungry, unloved and lonely.  Overlooked and nobody noticing.  If someone does notice, they usually look the other way and think to themselves, “You can’t save them all.”  So why even try?  Even stray cats have rescues now that try to help…  I wish there was a rescue for adult humans who need love.  Maybe that will be my next dream…  To start a rescue for unwanted humans.  It reminds me of something Jesus would do…

The Uglies.

I had a doctor who called it that.  This feeling.  This knowledge that you are physically so disgusting and hideous that nobody can love you.  You focus on a flaw you have and your brain magnifies it.  You look in the mirror and there it is.  You look at it for hours until you feel you may vomit.  Then, just as quickly you swear off mirrors.  You vow to never look into a mirror until this feeling passes.  You cannot look at your disfigurement.  So that’s me lately.  I have the uglies.  It is so painful that the thought of dying is the only thing that I can imagine will bring relief to this pain-this knowledge- that I am ugly and disfigured.  The thought of dying or some serious reconstructive plastic surgery to make me beautiful-and loveable.

I didn’t always feel ugly.  In fact, I remember sitting in front of a full length mirror just after a bath.  I must have been grade two or three.  I thought I was so cute.  Adorable.  I loved everything about my body.  I was not vain and I didn’t think myself better than anyone else.  I just felt comfortable in my skin and I could pick out certain things I loved about myself.  Then, something happened.  Many things happened.  Horrific things happened to me that I could not escape.  I could not fathom how these things were done to me, and, WORSE, how people could look away and not help me.  I needed help.  Asked for help.  Screamed for help.  But nobody helped me.  I watched those commercials that advertised the fact that “if you just told an adult you needed help, you would get it.  Never keep secrets.  If someone is hurting you, ask an adult for help.”  It’s not always true.  Adults will not always help you.  Adults will look away.  They will cower.  They will even blame you.  They will tell you it’s your fault.  They will ignore your screams or even try to silence them.

I have always been someone who wants to know WHY.  Why people behave the way they do.  Why people feel the way they do.  Why people think the things they think.  I am obsessed with trying to figure out WHY.  I don’t know why I want to know these things, other than I think maybe it will bring some relief from my thoughts.  So I try to figure it out myself.  I would look at myself in the mirror, as I grew older.  What exactly about me was it that made people ignore my pain?  I often looked at other people, who seemed to me to be loved and happy.  Often, those people would be well dressed-and beautiful.  Naturally beautiful.  Pretty and cute people are often treated better in this world.  I realized that, if I was being treated badly and ignored, it must be because I do not appear to be someone who deserves help, compassion and love.  And what EXACTLY about me makes me appear less worthy to other people?  I looked for “it” for months and years.  Staring into a mirror looking for that “thing” that made me disgusting to other people.  I remember when I saw it.  When I finally realized what might be making me less valuable and unloveable in other people’s eyes:  my nose.  It was crooked.  How could I have not noticed it before!?  It was like a punch in the throat.  Mainly because it was something “unfixable” without a LOT of courage and money (two things I certainly did NOT have!)  I stood in front of the bathroom mirror.  I must have been 17 or 18.  I felt hot.  I felt sick to my stomach.  It was hideous.  And right then began decades of mental anguish and torment.  I could not stop looking in the mirror.  When someone treated me badly, I’d look into the mirror and swear I saw it getting more crooked right before my eyes.  I’d be driving my car and, all of a sudden, I’d glance in the rear view mirror and see it was even more crooked than before!  OMG.  If I was unloveable with it being this crooked, how could I ever hope to be loved as it got more misshapen!?  I would sometimes have to pull my car over from the panic of being so ugly and unloveable.

I was trying to describe it to my doctor once.  This hideous feeling of ugliness and un-loveability and disfigurement.  I said, this is how it must feel to be anorexic.  You feel so fat and horrific that you would rather die than look a certain way.  He agreed that the feelings must be similar.  I even consulted with a plastic surgeon about fixing my nose.  I walked out about ten minutes before my surgery.  Why?  Because of my phobia of vomiting.  (That’s a whole other blog post)  So, in one fell swoop, I pissed off my doctor, who, in my eyes, was my last hope of possibly becoming loveable.  I would forever be ugly and disgusting and unloved.  That was twenty years ago, but it still makes me feel sick when I think about how close I was to having an entirely different existence.  A better one.  A more peaceful one.

I have a new “ugly” that I have never really had to deal with before.  I am now fat.  I’m not obese but I could lose about 40 pounds.  And, now that I am 41, I am getting wrinkles.      And I still have all the other “little” traits about myself that have bothered me for years also.  I am pale.  My eyelashes and eye brows are so fair that I look ill and washed out most of the time.  I recently got a sun burn and my skin is peeling this week too.  And of course, there is always my crooked nose.  And just being 41 in general is uncomfortable to me too.  It is uncomfortable because I have no children and that is so shameful and embarrassing to me.  It is uncomfortable because my “prettiest years” are far behind me now because of age alone.  Even if I was gorgeous, I would never be as gorgeous as I was in my twenties.  Aging makes everyone, especially women, invisible.  I am embarrassed and ashamed that nobody wanted to marry me.  I am humiliated that my own family ignored me and deserted me.

A few times in my life a couple of people have given me a hint as to why I may be unloveable.  They were only hints and nobody was straightforward enough with me to make it clear about what exactly is unloveable about me.  I was too afraid to ask them.  I wasn’t ready to hear the truth.  The truth still scares me.  The first person to almost tell me what was wrong with me was a guy.  They’ve all been men actually.  He looked at me and said, “You know, I’d almost date you if it wasn’t something about you.  I don’t know what it is.”  And just like that, those words would haunt me at least once a day for the next twenty years.  What was that “something” about me?  WHAT WAS IT!???  I didn’t ask him.  And he has likely never again thought about those few painful, life-changing words he said to me so long ago.  I know it had something to do with my personality.  That much I did know.  So, not only did I have to worry about my physical characteristics that were deeply disfigured, I also had to worry about part of my personality that was making me unloveable.  Unwanted.  Then, years and years later, I developed a huge crush on a guy. A doctor.  Doctors are one of the most amazing kinds of people to me.  They dedicate a good portion of their lives learning how to heal people and help people.  And after they have learned and learned for years, they dedicate many more years putting that knowledge to practice.  That is absolute beauty to me.  Anyways, this doctor was a charmer.  One day he took me for a ride in his car and, said to me, “You’ll never have children.”  He didn’t just say it out of the blue.  I don’t recall how the topic came up but I will never forget those words.  They were like a punch in my throat.  I think because, deep down, I already knew he was right.  Nobody would ever love me enough to think of having children with me.  And, because I looked up to him and valued his opinion, those words hurt me to the core.  He saw it too.  That “thing” about me that made me unwanted and unloveable and disgusting.  Another time he told me that if I ever did want children, I would have to be artificially inseminated.  Often, when I just cannot stop wondering what exactly makes me unwanted and unloveable, I am tempted to contact him.  Ask him to please tell me what it is he sees in me that makes it evident that I am deeply flawed.  Then I get scared.  I never do contact him to ask him.  I’m afraid to know.  I have worked on trying to “improve” myself for decades.  I have never met another human being that tried so hard and was still a failure.  I think it would be too painful to know the truth about myself.  I don’t think I could really handle it.

So, this is what is keeping me awake tonight.  I have run out of my Zopiclone and can’t get a refill until tomorrow.  Zopiclone makes me forget about all of this so I can fall asleep.  Get some relief from my thoughts.  If you are reading this and know what it is about me that makes me unattractive and unloveable, please don’t tell me.  I obsess about knowing, but I am not strong enough to know.




I am pissed off.  Raging.  I feel like I could murder someone if provoked.  I have never doubted God’s existence for even a second of my life but I am hurt and so angry with Him.

I am almost facing homelessness again and it is a constant, terrifying theme in my life.  I am at my wits end and need help.  There is no help.  Fuck.  My.  Life.  How dare God allow me to be born?  Knowing the life I would lead?  The anguish I would never quite be rid of?  God is just mean.  Oh great, here are the tears.  I am so raging that I freaked out on my dog and I feel awful about it.  But there is nobody else here to be angry with or yell at…  so she gets it.  Now I feel even worse.

I need help.  I need somebody to love me.  Everyone needs love to survive.  It is absolutely crucial.  I just cannot figure out what is so unloveable about me.  I wish someone would just tell me.  I feel like I am living on the Truman Show and everyone is aware of this big secret about me.  The secret of why I am unloved.  The reason why my life faces the same obstacles over and over again.  I wish somebody would just lay it out straight to me.  I asked one of my “friends” recently what exactly it is about me that makes me so unlovable?  He said I am a cunt.  Well then.  I have been called a bitch before, but only when I am being truthful with someone.  That can’t be the reason why I am unloved.  I have known absolutely horrible people before who were loved.  Maybe if I knew why, I could change it.  I need love like people need oxygen and I am severely deprived of it.  There is no greater pain I have ever experienced than to be worthless and unloved.

The only “people” who love me are my pets.  They will all die and I will be left alone with a gaping void.  I dread that day.  I hardly enjoy my pets anymore because I am dreading the day they leave me.  I will not be able to handle it.  I won’t be able to go on.  My pets are the only thing that have kept me alive this long.  When they are gone, I will be too.

I wish I could write better.  Get to the point already.  Amy Grant once said she realizes that you just can’t explain everything about your life.  “It’s OK to be an enigma.”  It might be OK to be one, but it is fucking lonely.  I am lonely.  It is hard to describe how I feel.  The way I write may portray that I have low self worth.  I assure you, I do not.  I am worthless to other people.  I realize I am a strong woman.  My ability to love astounds me.  While my outward appearance is fading as I age, I am still cute.  I put others first constantly.  In other people’s eyes I am unloveable.  How can I believe this?  I can only go by others actions and behaviours towards me, or their ignorance towards me.

The irony of writing this is that, by reading my thoughts and pains, most will skim through and will likely not finish reading this.  I may get “unfriended” by a person or two because I seem self-absorbed and there are many other people with REAL problems out there.  Most likely think I need to “snap out” of this “pity party” I am throwing for myself.   If only I would just shut up and smile and make nice with people, then maybe I would be likeable.  I don’t think I feel sorry for myself as much as I think I got the shaft in life.  If God is trying to “teach” me something by allowing this turmoil into my life, then I think He’s just mean.  I have no other way to describe what I feel.  I have no one to talk to about being unloved and lonely.  It is devastating and humiliating and I hate this.

Does anybody else out there feel like this?  I don’t know one single person in my life who is as unloved and alone as I am.  As I age and lose my “looks” it is sure to only get worse.  Humans love beautiful people.  That’s just life.  To quote Amy Grant again, when asked the hardest part of growing older, she said it is being ignored (unnoticed).

How does one behave in a manner so they may become loveable?  Stop writing every disgusting detail that goes on in my head I suppose may be a good start?  But, even before I wore my heart on my sleeve and started writing about my painful journey, I was unloved.  So it can’t be that.  What makes someone loveable?

I am so disturbed and so heart broken.  There is no medicine for this kind of pain.  I want someone to love me.  I need help.  I need love.  I need a family who loves me.





I hate the fall.

It has been a long time since I’ve come here.  Things in life seemed somewhat stable for awhile and, for that, I am so grateful.

My mind is racing because I am anxious.  When I am beyond a certain level of anxiety, I freeze up.  I am sitting in front of my computer when I should be doing things I need to do.  The things I need to be doing are simple and yet I struggle.  I need to give my dog his seizure medicine.  My cat needs his thyroid pill.  They are both almost an hour late.  I need to put food in my fridge that is sitting out on the kitchen counter.  I need to brush my teeth and sleep.  It is almost 2am and here I sit, typing out words that I feel barely scratch the surface of how I feel.  Do others feel like this?  How do they deal with it?

I just finished scrolling through web pages I stumbled across after typing in the words, “crisis” and “help”.  Am I in crisis? I don’t feel I am at the moment, but I feel I am on my way there in the next few months.  It’s coming.  Catastrophe will always come.  I wish I could enjoy this moment when things are OK.  That’s what anxiety and panic disorder do to me.  They rob the calm and peace that seem just beyond my grasp.

I hate September.  I have hated it ever since many of my friends got to go off to college or university and  I was left behind, struggling to keep my head afloat while I longed for an education too.  September is a punch in the throat for me.  Everyone seems to be either going off to school, or enjoying the career their education helped open the doors to.  I want to be a doctor.  I have wanted to be one for decades.  I know I will not be able to become one, but that “want” simply doesn’t go away, just because I didn’t have the opportunity to go to school.  My cousin is a dentist.  I cannot tell you how much it pains me that I didn’t have the opportunity to become a doctor but she had every opportunity.  The difference?  The parents she had.

So, while everyone seems to be excited over the cooler fall weather and the beginning of another school year, I DREAD the fall.  I hate cold weather.  I hate the holidays that are approaching.  Every year it is the same.  As summer comes to and end, so does my decent health and relative calmness.  Thanksgiving is coming, an ever present reminder of my lack of family, lack of children, lack of love.  Then, no sooner have I gotten past Thanksgiving, Christmas is on its way.  Approximately two and a half months of preparation for the most miserable time of year for many people.  After the festivities are wrapping up, my birthday comes in January.  I will be 41 years old and a dismal failure at life.  My life has not failed because of a lack of trying on my part.  Life has just not become even close to what it should have been and could have been.  I wish I was not as intelligent as I am.  I wish I did not realize all I could have become.  I wish my brain was simple enough to not care about the situation I am imprisoned in.  I was almost about to wish that my heart did not feel as much…  but I don’t want to ever be like that.  I just wish I had thicker skin.  I wish I didn’t wish for things.  I wish I could just lay down and accept my fate and be done with it.  I wish I knew why God made me.

This is how my mind works right now.  It is a prison.  I need to get out of this prison but I can’t escape.  Since I can’t escape, I wish I could just learn to relax in my prison cell.  Maybe paint the walls in here a nice colour.  Add some pretty pillows to my prison bed and learn to enjoy it here.  Maybe make some friends in prison also to share the experience and make it less lonely…  but I feel I am in more of a “solitary confinement”.  Being alone in my prison brain is never pleasant.  I am too scared to abuse drugs.  Too fearful of vomiting to ever become an alcoholic.  How pathetic is that?  To not even be able to drown my sorrows, even temporarily.  Too scared to kill myself.  Too in love with my pets to give up trying and live on the streets.  Too anxious and in debt to get and education so I can dig myself out of this hole I am in.  Forever.

Depression is gross.  Anxiety is crippling.  I’d call a crisis line but how could they possibly help me?  I need a family.  I need a career where I can earn a living and use my strengths and abilities.   This is not where my life should be.  I cannot begin to explain the tangled web of fuck that has brought me to this point.  I’m pretty sure if I tried to explain it, nobody would be interested anyways.

It is now 2:37am.  I did manage to put that food in the fridge and both pets have been medicated.

I have an old book that belonged to my grandma.  The cover looks like it was printed in the thirties.  I was thinking that, after I brush my teeth for bed, I should just lay down and try to read it.  Maybe I can half convince my brain that it is existing in a simpler time.  I wonder if there really were simpler times at one point?  With all out scientific breakthroughs and advances in medicine and technology, you’d think we’d be calmer somehow.  Things don’t seem calm to me though.  Not at all.  Maybe it was just as depraved and dark in the thirties as it seems to be right now.

I wonder if my writing seems as disorganized and non-sensical as a schizophrenic’s writings?  I doubt it is that bad…  but it may be just bad enough for the thought to cross someone’s mind as they read this.  I’m never brave enough to read what I’ve written on my blog.  I guess I don’t want to see how I appear to others.

There are lyrics to a song that go like this,

“Looking out to the hills, to the setting sun…

I feel a cold wind bound to come.

Another change, another end I cannot see,

But Your faithfulness to me is making it alright

Whatever comes.”

These words are truth.  Whatever comes, everything will be alright, but it may not be alright until the very, very, very end.  It seems like that’s a long time to wait for things to be alright.

Just decided to share a photo of how calm I wish things could be more often.  These fur balls are the reason I stay alive.  The reason I even get out of bed some days.  My babies.  Also, the reason I have panic and dread.  My worst fears involve them.  The biggest stressors in my life circle around their lives…


Chaotic New Surroundings and Other Ramblings…

Depressed.  When I’m not anxious, I’m often depressed.  I’ll go from days and weeks of anxiety to days and weeks of depression.  Anxiety requires more energy.  Panic creates more energy because of all the adrenaline pumping through me.  I think I’m more productive in “panic mode”, surprisingly.

I’ve just moved very near to a cemetery.  I’ll walk among the head stones and envy those people buried there.  I’m NOT suicidal.  I can just imagine someone reading this and then calling the authorities to whisk me away to a padded cell for safety.  Or, even worse, no one calling anyone at all.

In my new home, there is nothing but chaos.  Boxes and Rubbermaid totes full of all my earthly possessions are scattered everywhere.  Nothing has been put away yet.  When I move someplace new, I can’t put anything away unless it is cleaned by me, regardless of how much it was cleaned before I move in.  I am overwhelmed.  I notice every hair.  Every spec of dirt.  Every cob web.  I wish I could ignore these things, put my things away and clean a little bit every day.  I can’t.

I have committed to doing one thing a day.  Anything.  Empty one box.  Set my bed up.  Clean something.  I have been doing that but my place looks no better to me at all.  Then comes the guilt.  Guilt at having my beloved pets live in this chaos.  My two dogs are both getting older now and I want to help them live as long and as comfortable as possible.  How can they be comfy in this chaos?  I know it must stress them out.  Then I feel guilt, which leads to utter despair and then I feel frozen.  Similar to how “frozen” I feel when I have panic.  I just can’t move.  I lay here, thinking of all the things that I have to do. It needs to be done, if not for me then for my pets at least.  They didn’t get to pick their owner.  They didn’t ask to be here.  It is my responsibility to care for them properly.  My lab needs a bath; I can’t even find her shampoo.  It’s here somewhere…

Instead of organizing and getting settled, here I lay in my bed… typing.  Not a productive use of my time but a little bit of productivity from my brain, maybe. Does anyone else ever get “stuck”?  I feel as though my brain is turning to mush.  I wonder what would help me?  Maybe if I had a bit more money?  Maybe if I could work more?  Maybe if I was younger or my dogs were younger?  I don’t even know if anything could help me at this point in my life.  I think I am beyond help.  Sometimes, there are just things we need to accept.  Stop trying so hard to change things that can’t be changed.  I think I would find it easier to stop trying and hoping if I didn’t have pets who need me.  I’m not saying they need me specifically (although my pets do seem to love me a lot).  I’m saying that there are not enough people in this world to step up and care for my pets if something happens to me.  So I continue to exist and try for their sake.

I wonder if my blogs appear to be nothing more than confused, chaotic ramblings?  That’s what it feels like to me.  I’m actually a very smart individual.  I think the problem is that I think too much about things.  I think too much about everything.  One thought leads to another which leads to another.  Some thoughts are distorted and some are accurate.  The trouble is that I have difficulty distinguishing the two.  I also believe that I am a realist.  I am very realistic about things.  I do not “sugar coat” things.  I do not pretend that things might just turn out OK, when it clearly seems that they may not.  See?  I feel like this last paragraph is just ramblings.  I only get out a fraction of the thoughts going through my head.  Exhausting.

I’m going to get up, force myself to put some more things away and maybe take some pictures of the chaos that is my new home.  Maybe I’ll add some photos to this blog a bit later so you can see things from where I see them.  We’ll see…