God And I Want The Same Thing...UPDATE

Dear Hearts,

I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to do anything.

Writing this makes me feel like a weak fucking loser who isn’t even gonna bother about grammar.

But maybe if I get it out…

Is there something clinically wrong with my brain? Is something just broke? Permanently? Did the ECT damage me forever. But I felt like this before the ECT.

I have so much to be grateful for. So many blessings. I pray to God and Mother Mary. I surrender to them. I imagine myself in Christ’s arms telling me it will be okay.

The pall. The heavy wet woolen blanket just falls on me without warning. Xanax won’t help this feeling.

I can’t I just feel like I can’t go on one more moment.

But I have to and I am.

I am writing this. So obviously I am going on.

But my finger literally feel  heavy on the keyboard. I just want to go away.

Every bit of will power is keeping me writing. That’s God.

I have no dreams. Aunt has dreams. Dad and Mom do. I don’t have any dreams.

I don’t want to run home and hide in mom and dad’s house.

I want to help papa.

But I feel like sometimes…I can barely help myself. Just fucking barely.

I should feel happy. I had a good day. I had alone time. I have pie tonight. I know all my blessings. I thanked God for them…but I just can’t feel anything but hurt. I am so selfish. Oh here come the tears. I don’t deserve what I have.

I have no image of the future.

I told God that if he wants me to walk life alone with no partner I will.

Whatever He wants. I’ll fucking do it.

But I don’t know what He wants. I don’t know what I want. 

That’s not true.

I am sure that God and I do want me to stop hurting—to stop feeling empty.

I’m sorry.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Pie

Coffee

Angel

Cigarettes

ER on Hulu

Health

Family

Posting as is.

I will shower and eat and maybe give myself another, extra smoke tonight.

Thank you God for the will power…I am using every remnant of it.  

now the shaking comes

it's like i'm okay...okay for me but then the riptide comes without warning and i fall into the well

i know a mixed metaphor.

somebody maybe the devil pushes me into the well.

and i'm too chicken shit to even ask for help. because i need to get the fuck over it. 

i used my breakdown excuse

so i write it

passive aggressive cunt

i am made in the image and likeness of God and no one can touch that.

hollow words. i am wearing kevlar and the good above statement can't get thrrough

evn the woman with the wolf tattoo--her howl is weak.

UPDATE

I cross stitched and watch two episodes of ER. I am those doctors' ages---or older. I remember when I watched it in the 90s--they seemed so grown up. They still do.

I can trick the demon into his cave--the mere with Grendel's mom--but he'll be back. He always is. And I hear his hissing always always alway.

Running Away...Running Toward...

Dear Hearts,

I have got about half an hour. At five Aunt Faerie comes to pick up Papa for dinner and then will get him before Lawrence Welk at seven p.m. CT, which plays full tilt. So at five, I have my CC&P (coffee, cigarettes, and prayers—an hour is assumed).

Papa makes it hard to not kill him sometimes. Mom thought that was a really funny quote. She knows I’m joking. You have to utilize humor sometimes, or else the sorrow and frustration overwhelm you. Like Papa will be early to his own funeral and if anyone is late, boy is that guy in trouble.

He has now taken objection to my vaping my Blu E-Cigarette. But he only told me as he was on the way out to go to pie with Dr. Swede. He wouldn’t tell me whilst I was doing it, because he knew I’d not “Yes, sir” him.

This week his cath bag broke and I had to replace it with an “inferior” cath bag and wipe the urine off him and the bathroom floor. He wanted to go through the garbage for his urine soaked torn cath bag and find the little plastic cap. The plastic cap would not the new bag. But, he wanted to save it. He says I have stuff? Fuck that. He saves A LOT. Mom and Aunt Faerie wait until you get down in that basement someday.

I argued with him. Raising my voice with me is the norm because he is so deaf, but I was yelling at him.

“No! I will not let you got through urine soaked garbage for a cap. It’s disgusting and unsanitary!”

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. When he saw that I was willing to take the garbage out at 10 o’clock at night, he let it go.

Mom said she probably would have donned rubber gloves and dutifully gone through the garbage for the cap.

He will appeal to Aunt Faerie and Mom about my vaping. He reads these “Fake News” articles about how vaping will kill you and those around you. I try to throw out this junk mail before he reads it—like detox your colon today for only $100 or DON’T DRINK tap water because it causes Alzheimer’s. What he should be worried about is all the Lysol I use in this house. That is probably more hazardous. And, it always screwed up T’s drug and alcohol blood tests. Lysol shows up as alcohol in your blood. It’s true. Ask T.

The man (Papa) does not wash his hand after he empties his catheter. He just doesn’t wash his hands much at all! Ironic for me to be living with him. And, why does he leave used diapers around the house in various and odd places? I haven’t gotten the stomach up to go around and collect them all in a garbage bag.

I am vaping right now in the living room and he’s in the back room. Not a clue. AND he is TOTALLY oblivious to when I actually smoke cigarettes.

He is old and his brain misfires. He can look at a plumbing fixture that he put in 30 years ago and tell you all the technical details on it…but the judgment and memory…misfires.

So, what may kill Papa is the word “No.”

I cannot get past BB—I obsessively think about it. Here is an insight…

(It’s 4.40 and he is getting ready for Aunt Faerie. He will sit and watch for her at the door.)

The first year I taught was sweet mother of fuck hell.

Even the first few years at The School (where I taught for 13 years) were hell. Truly. But, I didn’t give up on teaching.

I left The Hell Catholic School where I taught for a year. But, it didn’t dissuade me from teaching forever.

I learned from BB that I want to work with domestic abuse victims. But, they ain’t the only gig in town. But they can’t take that desire, dream, or passion from me. Right now, Papa is the focus.

Fifty percent of your time at a job should not be figuring out politics and how to cover your ass. Fuck ‘em.

I took two Xanax and went for a run in 14-degree weather after I boiled over about Papa and vaping. I feel better.

Tonight is Movie Night and Chocolate Chocolate Chip pie night.

Do I still feel like I do when I blogged last? Fuck, yes. But it’s those oases I live for. The coffee and cigarette. The pie. The cross stitching. Angel. The TV shows.

4:50. He is ready and at the door. Christ on a cracker.

If God works through people then:

Thanks, Penny. You give me hope. I may find the love of my life yet.

Paul, I am sorry your wife has “the cancer” but thanks for admiring my look and saying that he could tell I was grateful for my blessings.

Stop fighting and accept and that I am gonna feel this way. Mom’s text that she loves me and well, just is there for me is what I need. Nobody can fix me, but me. And, on that I am more clueless than I was in high school geometry.

“Reckon it nothing but joy…whenever you find yourself hedged in by the various trials, be assured that the testing of you faith leads to power of endurance.” (James 1:2-3)

“God hedges in His own in order to protect them. Yet often they only see the wrong side of the hedge and therefore misunderstand His actions…Onto the pages of every trial there are narrow shafts of light that shine. Thorns will not prick you until you lean against them, and not one will touch you without God knowing. The words that hurt you, the letter that caused you pain, the cruelty of your closest friend, your financial need—they are all known to Him. He sympathizes as no one else can and watches to see if through it all, you will DARE to trust Him completely.”

Rivers in the Deserts

I don’t God tests me. But, I will dare…

Be still… And know that I am God… Do not be afraid…He restoreth my soul…”

I’m out. Peace. CC&P and Howling time! Papa is out!

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Pie

Aunt Faerie’s meatloaf

Faith

Health

Sleep

Several hours later: the pall, the wet wool blanket, the black bag descends

Blood Letting and Xanax

Dear Hearts,

8th

I am just overcome with such despair like a funeral pall

I should enjoy this I’m not working and don’t have to

I can’t go on but I have to

I wish I wanted to kill myself

Tired of the trials

Why does it have to be so fucking hard

They took aware my future

Again

9^th

the tears won’t come

that was mine. It was so

it was my hope

my future

I wish the tears would come and release the pain

Do I fight back

Going through motions

Empty

Paralyzed

11^th above are just random thoughts I’ve had. I have to get this out of my head or I will go mad or madder than I am.

I can not get past losing the job at bb. What if I did fuck up. I should be teaching in new york in my six bedroom house. I should n ot be on disability.

I just want to go away.

NO I AM NOT GOING TO KILL MYSELF.

I’ve been afraid to post what I am feeling because I don’t want to cause more grief.  I wasn’t going to post it at all but I gotta get the demon out.

My marriage, my job, T, the house—all of it…I thought I could never get through the loss of these things. The absence of these thnings in my life. But I did.

But I can’t get past this job. That was my purpose and future here. What the fuck good am i? except as papa’s caregiver. Which is a pretty huge frucking thing.

I pray. I try to let God in. Christ in. I read the scriptures.

I have so fucking much to be grateful for. Health. Never be homeless. Family. Angel. Pie. Disability. Health insurance.

But I just go through the day tamping down the endless divots in my head from the violent, no holds barred, polo match the 2 wolves are having inside me.

I don’t want to be a substitute teacher.

I am so afraid of the germs out there. It makes not sense. But I just want to go away. I was handling it when I was working—but now I can’t.

Go back and volunteer…humiliated.

Every time I think I have gotten through the darkness at the bottom a new bottom appears.

Penny, Paul…

HELLO.—GOD thank you.

I just feel like my am bursting at the seams.

Get a social life. Volunteer. Easier said than done. I am not going to do online dating. Every time in my life I have looked for a man to rescue me. i can’t this time

"A blanket of sadness hit me, settling deep into my soul. I’m never going to have such happiness, I thought. I’ll never have such a life. I’m nothing but a slave to these two people who are keeping me so close. By the time I can get away from them, it will be too late. No one will ever want me. I will be too old. And after all the things that have happened to me, no one will be willing to give me a chance. I’ll never have a real husband."

I am reading elizabeth’s smart’s story. That’s how I feel.

I should be half wayt to retirement. Have money, savings…

Iw as making a difference at bb. I can’t work at mcdonald’s.

Stupid fucking selfish me. I think I can’t get through the next minute but I do.

I don’t like living like this.

I just want to be back at the front desk at bb. I’d do better.

I want to be able to rest in the peace of GODS will. I can’t. I won’/t.

I want to be not mentally defective. The fucked up one in the family.

God help me. yes. I want to help papa. But what is there for me after..what if I lose my disability…what if it never gets tbetter than this.

God and all my saints and MOTHER MARY help me please. Helpl.

GODS trying to reach out—but I am so far down in the well…

And I should be so grateful.

Bang bang

I promised GOD and I family that I would not kill myself from last Easter to the nexty. I never promised to njot feel that way.

I’m sorry. I am just so fucking sorry. I just want to go away.

I want a husband and a job that doesn’t make me sick and life that matters.

I put the signed and notorized papers in the mail today to officially deed in lieu of my house.

What’s the point

My whole existence is taking care of papa. That is my job. Outside of that nothing matters. I’m luck I’ve got that. That I have a room and barbies and cigarettes.

Where’s the bottom…where…

Yeah. Hi. Do you want to be my friend?

I should love this! I am not working! People dream of this. Win the lottery and not work. But I can’t get out of the well. Or don’t want to.

Posting as is.

I;’m trying to feed the right wolf.

All I ever wanted was to be a wife and fit into somebody’s plan..

THY WILL BE DONE.

I’m sorry I’m a fuck up.≥

Satan get thee behind me.

Demons I call you by name—get the fuck out of me.

I am gonna eat now and watching me. nothing would seem amiss except someshaking. But it’s all wrong. I did this. I fucking own it.

I can’t go back to bb. I clawed and stuffed envelopes and sorted expired food for two days a week athe desk and a chance to interact with clients—women loiike me.

I’m not going back to sitting on the dusty floor sorting books that no one give a fuck about.

GOD, to returns. We have a defective one here.

Maybe this is supposed to be my life. As is. Maybe I am selfish indulgent bitch brat.

I doubt. i’m sorry GOD.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

YES I WANT TO BE HERE IN THE HOLY CITY. I WANT TO TAKE CARE OF PAPA.

Lost...

Dear Hearts,

They don’t know what they did. What they took from me.

When I first moved here with the intent of staying—summer of 2016—I applied for a job at Burning Bed. They didn’t have the funds for the job. But THEY came to ME. They contacted ME to take the training. The ED was all impressed with my writing skills and they implied that if I stuck around I would get a job. Granted I have been back and forth a lot since that summer until the fall of 2017. But I volunteered with a smile on my face and did go above and beyond. I fucking worked Sundays for free. I covered whole day shifts as a volunteer.

Tonya loved me. That’s what she said. I was great, skilled—I had everything they were looking for. They wanted me to be part of their staff.

17 paid days later that was not the case. I was incompetent and unattainable on the phone. I ignored visitors. I didn’t know the procedures even though I had “special” training. Tonya couldn’t do anything else with me. I just could not do the job.

“But, oh yeah, keep volunteering for us,” said Tonya.

“If you worked for me, you never would have been fired,” said the ED. “I promise that if you keep volunteering, I will get you a job.” (I DO WORK FOR YOU, ASSHOLE!)

The back-stabbing, sabotage, cattiness, and bullying had been done. It can’t be undone.

I swear I know when I do a bad job.

Monday: If a new client calls, write a referral if no advocates are available.

Tuesday: Don’t write a referral if a new client calls, FIND AN ADVOCATE!

Wednesday: How do you not know what you are doing yet?

Thursday: They are talking about you. What is the matter with you?

Friday: SHE probably already took it to the ED and you’re in trouble. I can’t help you.

I didn’t get a “lunch.” I got to go to the bathroom once a day.

It was a set up to fail.

I have a fucking NYS Teaching Degree and an MFA (Ha-fucking-ha, Michael-I’m sorry that my MFA doesn’t fit your standards. Didn’t you tell me that I was the only applicant with no writing errors in her application?) I taught for almost 13 years. I was a journalist. I graduated summa cum laude and deserved it!

I don’t know whom I pissed off. I don’t know what I could have done differently. I keep going over and over and over it like a skipping CD.

The situation makes less sense now than it did when it first happened. I was the only Office Staff with a degree.

What they took from me was more than just a fucking job. Oh, let me be indulgent—they took away a major part of my life. BB was a motivation for myself—for my future, past Papa, here. It’s gone.

I dream about Tonya. The humiliation and shame and secrets.

Fuck Me Freddy.

It hurts so much still. A visceral, palpable pain.

Pray and Believe. I am really trying. I lost Hope with BB.

The thing with feathers. Its feathers fell off.

And this single digit and below weather—I’ve had it! I cannot run.

The kind of care Papa has needed in the last month—I couldn’t have given that to him if I had been working.

I need something for myself. Just me. Something other than cross-stitching, drawing, reading…this is what happened in NY. I became so isolated.

I feel so alone.

Aunt Faerie does her best. Other people my age have families and jobs and lives.

I know I fucked up along the way. But, what happened at BB was beyond my control. Do I return to my abuser? Not this time.

I feel like I am living inside a prism and everything is distorted—all my senses.

The papers that officially release me from the house are in the mail.

I have no savings and am way in the red.

And I can feel those stressors coming back full force. The OCD. The germs that everyone has out there. Aunt Faerie got me butter, bananas, and apples when they went shopping this morning.

Do you know how much that means to me? That I did not have to go to a store—change into “outside” clothes and come in contact with people and GERMS.

I am screaming and no sound is come out.

I want peace. That’s it. Just peace. I want peace in my heart.

In an hour I get ready to go to Mass.

My life and days are anxiety-ridden with small oases of peace. For those I am grateful. And I know all the blessings I have and for those I am grateful. I recognize all of God’s blessings. Then I feel guilt for not being happier.

Dad gave me this book Streams in the Desert. Every day there is a Bible quote and then some commentary on those desert times.

“When you pass through the waters…they will not sweep over you.” Isaiah 43:2

“God does not open paths for us before we come to them, or provide help before help is needed. He does not remove obstacles out of our way before we reach them. Yet when we are at our point of need, God’s hand is outstretched….You must be in the floodwaters before you can claim God’s promise…”

I have come so far…and lost and gained so much…

I feel lost. I am lost.

Lost.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Family

Health

Movie Night

Pie

Faith

Cigarettes

Coffee

Sleeping in

Staying up late

All those whom I love and who love me

PS: ED, does it make you feel good to insult a “woman you WANT on staff” by saying her religion is one of anti-gays and pedophiles? Did I tell you that you a craven Atheist with a big New York City attitude that no one admires? You have fooled some of these Mid-Westerners, but not me.

TAKE YOUR PROMISES AND SHOVE THEM, MOTHERFUCKER. 

God, I am here...

I don't even know what to pray for on this Epiphany of Our Lord...to be found, I think.