I will be ok

Friendly reminder: It is okay to not be okay.

The past couple of months have really taken a toll on my mental health, if I’m being completely honest, and the only healthy way that I’ve ever been even remotely good at expressing my thoughts and emotions has always been through writing; so here I go.

I’ve felt like I’ve hanging on by a thread since Sunday, August 8th. That’s the day that I had to put my Natafire on a plane so that he can go back home with his father, over 1,000 miles away. I cried the entire drive home. It took days for me to snap out of auto pilot. My heart mourned so deeply that I was in physical pain and felt exhausted. I missed my son. I miss my son.

A few days later, it was his first day of high school. MY son, in high school!! Such a milestone, and aside from a couple of pictures and an after school phone call, I wasn’t able to be present for it. This hurt me, but I was grateful for what we were able to share.

Then, my toxic ex boyfriend decided to email me. This was after WEEKS of sending me unsolicited McD’s frappes 2 sometimes 3 times a week. Deep down, I knew it was him the entire time, although I had no proof. Seeing them at my doorstep made me so angry! He knew that I didn’t want to be bothered by him! He knew that I had had enough of his bull shit!  (I have yet to go public with just how much trauma this man has put me through, but at this point I am 100% ready to expose him for the monster that he really is.) In the exchange, I expressed that anything sent to my house without my consent would be trashed and I repeated to him that I wanted him to leave me alone. I broke things off with this man in August, 2020, and for a few months, he tried to maintain a friendship, but it was too late for him. My guard was all the way up and my eyes were wide open. I finally saw him for all that he was despite any protectory of potential growth. It wasn’t long before he was in no way shape or form to be welcome in my space again. But he continues to be persistent.

My tires were popped just days later. This was only the beginning.

About a week after that , my grandmother, who was temporally staying with us at the time, had a stroke and had to stay in the hospital for a few days. That weekend, I had plans to be out of state to celebrate a friend’s birthday. That turned into a complete bust, I never got to see her and since I’m being honest here, I’m not even sure why I consider her to be a friend anymore, all things considered.

During the next few weeks, my younger two sons  started the 4th and 7th grades in virtual school, my grandmother had been put in hospice and transferred to a rehab, my tires had to be replaced another FIVE times, and the only advice given to me by cops so far is to “just move,” meanwhile I’ve lost my job because of it. 

So, when I say I’m barely hanging on, I mean it.

Today, I finally screamed. My throat is still sore. I just let it out. I didn’t care who heard me. I didn’t care what they’d think. I didn’t care about sounding crazy. I just couldn’t keep it in any more. My mother gave the final push this morning when she asked me why I was so “bitchy.” Good God, I snapped! I finished making my coffee, but not before I started to spill my thoughts.

“Why am I so bitchy? Why am I so fucking bitchy? Did she seriously just fucking ask me why the fuck I’m so fucking bitchy?” I grabbed my mug, went upstairs to my room, locking the door behind me. “Why am I so bitchy?”

I went on and on, yelling reason after reason. And at the end of my rant, I put on some music and set the volume on high. Then I remembered, that last night, I started to write (this entry) because I was feeling like I was having yet another panic attack, and I wanted to help myself ‘make it make sense.’ It helped. So maybe now, I thought,  I’ll do the same; I’ll just limit human interaction until  further notice. I’m not pulling this negative attitude out of my ass … it feels more like its just leaking out of me. I don’t feel as strong as people keep saying that I am, and it’s exhausting to keep feeling like I will never live up to that expectation. But I have to keep going. I get it. So, instead of lashing out on my loved ones (sorry mujersita!), I’d rather just collect my thoughts and answer that question as honestly as I can.

Up until about a week or two ago, I was really looking forward to the month of October. Not only because it kicks off the holiday season, but because it really was going to be a month of financial abundance for me and my family. I was expecting THREE extra checks this month. But now, I’m not, and I can’t just ‘get over it.’ That was payoff the credit cards money. That was birthday money. That was Christmas money. That was savings for a newer vehicle money. I’m back to feeling broke and worthless. That’s why I’m so bitchy.

I’ve been stuck at home for the most part with no will or motivation to at least clean up, so it’s like the clutter is swallowing me whole. I’m stuck between caring and absolutely not, and I hate it. Messes make me anxious and yet here I am. The days, like all of my shit, are just meshed together and nothing seems to make sense. I’m back to feeling like an incompetent lazy excuse of a human. That’s why I’m so bitchy.

I have about a handful of peers that seem to give a genuine fuck about me, which is nice, and I truly TRULY appreciate them, but damn it’s hard to open up to people when you’ve gotten so used to be completely isolated; even though it’s been years since it wasn’t my choice, it’s not easy for me to trust that outsiders have my best interest at heart. I’m back to feeling like I’m spiraling down a dark and lonely place, and like no one could ever understand. That’s why I’m so bitchy.

Truth is, I’m not trying to be bitchy, I just hit my breaking point. I’m exhausted; even my nights have been invaded by terrors. I wake up in a panic frequently. I have nightmares that I go all day, sometimes, still trying to calm down from. I’m depressed. I have severe anxiety. The fact that I might have PTSD because of the craziness that my ex put me through is haunting.  The reality that I’ve been dissociating on more regular basis hurts me. I am not ok. But, bitchy? Ugh, damn that was triggering!


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