My day never did get better. The anger melted into depression where I was just putting on the mask.
Couldn’t wait to get home.
Only to come home to a pink slip in my mail box saying I have a certified letter I must sign for at the post office.
Then my kid knocks over a bottle of soda so I have half a two liter of Dr Pepper coating my hair and my freshly formerly waxed floor.
I am a fucking wreck.
While I don’t know what the certified mail thing is, I know it could be the divorce papers from the donor.
Or the “bunch of b.s.” he basically promised if I didn’t sign his do it yourself papers.
And I can’t do a fucking thing about it,at least not know for sure what awaits me, til at least 8:30 am tomorrow.
By then I am going to be a fucking lunatic of paranoia and panic.
I am well on my way now.
I keep reminding myself I am strong, I have friends, I can handle whatever bullshit he cares to throw my way…
But the thing is, I don’t know that I can.
Especially if he’s choosing to fight dirty.
I am running on fumes here. Fighting so bloody hard to balance everything and keep my shit together. With reminders everywhere of what a fuck up I have been all my life, as if to tell me I started getting my shit together too late and I am out of luck.
I go over in my mind the possible things it could be waiting for me at the post office if it’s not the divorce papers.
With that man, god only knows what minor details he dismissed that could end up biting me on the ass.He was a “fly by the seat of my pants” person,so the possibilities give me a stomach ache of ulcer-esque proportions.
Oh how I wish I could be one of the normal people who’d just put it out of their minds then deal with it in the morning without their heads spinning or stomachs rolling or heart pounding or pits sweating.
Like when R got a “third and final” notice from the IRS and took it with a grain of salt, like it was nothing more than junk mail.
God, I want to have a non ocd mind and nerves of steel.
I want that sooo bad.
I don’t want to be a basketcase.
Funny how a five minute span of time can cause you to come totally undone.
That’s what it took, finding that notice in the mail box and getting a Dr. Pepper shower, and the next thing I’m in the kitchen whimpering, “Nooooo, I just got this floor shiny!”, practically in tears and ready to curl up in a ball.
It would be so much better if I could just go get the damned thing from the post office NOW. Knowing is better than wondering. My imagination is pretty disturbing.
And if it is the divorce papers, what if he has suddenly decided to ask for custody or claim I am unfit or….
Breathe. Breathe. BREATHE!
I feel like my insides have had battery acid poured over them.
My central nervous system is on overload.
I may as well be facing a man in a hockey mask with a machete as opposed to a piece of mail.
But today proves why every day I come home looking at the mail box like a bomb ticking away.
I had a week or two respite.
Now that bomb is back, in my hand, so to speak, tick, tick,ticking away.
I am such a freak!
Why can’t my freakishness be removed like a bad spleen?????
I keep telling myself to do something, distract myself, focus on something else.
My ocd brain comes back to the one thing, like I cannot breathe until I know for sure what the hell this certified mail thing is.
Woulda been nice of the post guy to write who it was from on the slip, give me a fucking clue.
But nothing good ever comes certified mail.
I am soo scared.
Everyone tells me I was right not to sign the papers he sent me.
Now I am starting to wonder.
What if I brought a ton of bullshit upon myself and my kid by refusing to acquiesce?
I want my central nervous system removed, I cannot stand this anxiety, even my pancreas is having a panic attack.
And worst of all is, I may have friends, but I don’t have anyone who understands the mood and panic stuff. I am so very alone in this.
And it’s scary.
And I am scared.
I should have just signed the fucking papers.
I cannot lose my kid.
People keep telling me he doesn’t want her.
No, I don’t think he does, but I think he’d chew his own arm off to avoid having to pay me child support.
I underestimated him before.
I won’t do it again.
God, I wish I had someone to call who could understand and would come talk me down from this panic ledge.
Alas, there is no one. The people I know would roll their eyes and tell me to grow up and not to freak out til I know exactly what the certified mail is.
Which is a stellar notion.
Wish someone would let the panic disorder in one it because it ain’t listening.
I am so very scared.
I don’t care if it’s illogical or ridiculous.