My dad’s crew just left.
My kid is crying over her diaper rash. As if I am indeed speaking Japanese trying to teach her to use a toilet so she doesn’t get a diaper rash from the pull-ups.
My mind is a mine field of misfiring emotions and discombobulated thoughts. It’s making me want to die. At this moment, I feel so alone, so shitty, like such an incompetent misfit, that I should be sentenced to death.
It sounds so pathetic and dramatic and yet the misfiring chemicals and hormones are all at war, putting these thoughts into my head, making me just emotionally wonky enough to buy into the party line about how horrid I am as a person.
The stepmonster read to my kid.
All I could think was, “God, I am such a failure, when I read, the kid won’t pay attention two seconds.”
I got texts from R, telling me how fantastic his party was and I should have been there and a mutual friend neither of us had seen in 10 years was even there…
And that got me thinking, “Wow, Shane couldn’t be bothered to call or drop in and meet my kid, but he could go to a drunken shindig for R. I really am chopped liver.”
And feeling that way makes me view myself as so pathetic and weak.
Because ultimately, not going was my choice. The cramps were a factor, but mainly, I just didn’t want to face the social anxiety. I’d like to think it was a controlled decision. A choice.
Fact is, I let the disorder kick my ass.
And I apparently missed one hell of a shindig.
But not being there isn’t the problem.
It’s the fact that Shane, who I loved dearly, did not even send me a text while he was in town. I knew him before he ever met R, and yet, for R he could be there. He’s never even met Spook.
God, I am making myself want to puke with all these bullshit thoughts.
I am the one who chose not to go, yet here I am feeling all victimized? What the fuck is wrong with me?
And three posts in one day, wow, that’s how you know I am feeling really mental. When I am stable, I don’t have much to talk about. Today is not one of those days because stable has left the building, leaving behind this husk of a pathetic whiny bitch who can’t regulate her own emotions, can’t shake off the Seroquel cobwebs, and can’t stop thinking death is the only thing I am worthy of because I am such a waste of space.
Perhaps the hardest thing about any of it and all of it is that the bottom line is: I have never belonged anywhere in my life. I don’t fit. Anywhere. With anyone.
And because I am socially programmed to feel bad about it, I do.
But the fact of the matter is, I much prefer being alone and doing my own thing. When you have to drink just to enjoy someone’s company, then obviously you’re not meshing. And that’s how it has been with everyone I have ever known for the most part.
I’m not arrogant enough to think it’s anything but my own failing.
And in my current state, feeling like a giant failure is not going to go any place good. It is likely going to be one of those nights where I force myself to bed early, hoping for the brain “reboot” that comes with sleep so I can wake up in a different mind space.
I don’t know if I will feel better tomorrow, though. Probably won’t start to level off hormonally until Wednesday.
Now if that isn’t depressing, what is?
God, just to feel like there is ONE THING I can do right.
And be able to believe it beyond the next mood swing.
My goals are modest.