I’m writing this not for you to read, but for me to get out.
I’m writing this because I can’t seem to think one single thought without tears pouring from eyes, and for what reason; I don’t know.
I was fine. I had a good day. Well, that’s not the whole truth…
I woke up really sad; extremely sad. Ignorance is bliss and last night my ignorance was taken. I’d like it back please.
So this morning I was still feeling it; the ripping away of my ignorance like duct tape left on a moving box for a few years too long.
I got over it; I accepted it. Whatever; nobody actually likes me. He took me to an antique store and we took a nap and watched ghost adventures, and I was okay. He went to work and I went to work and I was okay. I hung out with a friend and I was okay. I got in the car to go home and I wasn’t okay.
Anxiety from everywhere and anywhere hit and it hit hard; like when a bug hits your windshield while driving down the highway. That’s how it felt. That’s how I felt. I was the bug and I was the windshield. I could feel everything and I could feel nothing.
So I’m writing this… To stop the tears; to dry my eyes. I’m writing to understand what I’m feeling, but I still don’t understand.
I guess I’ll keep going…
Maybe it’s because I realized I had to drive home at night? No, that wasn’t it. I talked myself through it. I was fine.
Maybe it was… So cliche, but it just hit. I know why I’m writing…
I’m incredibly overwhelmed. There was so much change at once. And why do people have to keep talking to me about it? I know my family is fucked up; I know my dad’s a hero; I know my mom has lost her mind and doesn’t know what she has given up. YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME! I’m living it. I’ve lived it everyday of my life. I get what’s happening. It’s shit, but I don’t know how much longer I can take a small trailer, three people, two dogs, two cats, and enough stuff in the house to fill two houses the size of the box we live in.
I’m so ungrateful. I shouldn’t be complaining about this. I’m sorry. I really am thankful for my house and my dad and the fact that my sister is here with us and not with the lady who carried us in her womb for 9 months and then was done being a “mom”. But it’s too much. I’m too overwhelmed.
So I’m writing this…