Work is crazy nuts right now. It’s great since only a few months ago we were on a work share program and now we’re hiring new people because work’s picked up so fast. I am a Project Coordinator for a small (under 20 people) company. I’ve been with the company since its inception, May, 2003, and though I have been with the company longer than anyone else, I feel as though I am the least important member of the team. Two maternity leaves have seemingly pushed me to the outer rings where some days I find myself feeling as though I am quickly moving closer to dismissal.

Upon my return from my latest maternity leave there were a number of new staff members and a completely re-invented policy and procedure program. I struggled with balancing my home and work life while learning about my company as though I were a new employee. It was a little demoralizing and hard at best.

For the first two months back to work, I struggled. I struggled so hard with having both my children in daycare and pretty much working solely to pay for that daycare. After eight and a half years of dedicated work, I went back with my first two weeks broken up into part time shifts because daycare had messed up placement for Carter to return to a full time slot. I then missed numerous days to stay home and care for them as illness was rampant through the centre.

After all those years of dedication, I was called into my boss’ office and put on notice that I better shape up or I was out. It all came down to roughly three and a half weeks of REALLY shitty quality of work – or complete lack of work, never mind all those previous years of traveling and overtime.  I felt as though I was given the short end of the stick because I wasn’t on my game as soon as I stepped foot in the office after a year’s leave. And as truly terrifying and sad it would be to find myself out of work, I was (am) shockingly comfortable with the thought. I absolutely love the industry that I’m in and the experiences I have, I just miss my babies so much. Being downsized or laid-off, seems like it would be a godsend some days.

Since The Talk, things have improved drastically and I feel, after almost a year back to work, I am somewhat back in the loop. But still, for some reason I find myself feeling more and more susceptible. I keep feeling like any wrong move I make will be reason enough to hand me notice and get me out the door. I just don’t have the confidence in my job that I once had.

Paranoid. There’s really no other way to explain what I’ve been feeling. I am completely and utterly paranoid.

Never in all my life can I recount a moment that I’ve felt this way. I’ve dealt with extreme self consciousness – like walking down the “Senior Hall” in high school trying to avoid eye contact and falling on my face as I passed through what felt like a million pairs of eyes watching and judging.

But paranoia? Doesn’t even compare. It’s debilitating and soul crushing. Questioning every move I make on a daily, hour, minutely basis is tiring. So tiring.

I crave to write. I think about it constantly.

I dream of a finished office space, white furniture with wall-to-wall white shelving filled with my books and my magazines. I dream of pristine walls with a slight hint of turquoise. I dream of a wide open window with lightweight sheers and a white orchid sitting on the sill. I see myself sitting at a glass top desk, lightly tapping out my mediocrity for all of the Internet.

In my head, that space will make it all better. That space will bring me back to the spot where I want to write again. In that space I will work, providing others with their lovely writing spaces while I will begin to remember what it was like when I would write something I was proud of. Something. Anything.

But that space won’t relieve my mental block. That space won’t be a reality for a long, long while – if ever. That space, this space, seems to have met it’s end. Or at least it feels that way.

It’s been months since I’ve been able to write something that others can connect with. The more I read, the more I realize that the need to be really good at what you do is ever more prevalent. As parent blogging changes and morphs rapidly into blogging for marketing and sponsorship, those whom used to write personally are converting and only the strong remain unwavering.

I am wavering. I have no desire to chase sponsorships no matter how much I’d love to be at the next *it* conference. Yet like others, I want to be noticed, adored and READ. (If you’re a blogger and say you don’t care about those things, you’re lying to us and worst of all – yourself. No one puts themselves out on a public stage just because.) But I have long since passed the stage of promoting this site. There is no more clicking around traffic building sites or adding my site to all the “communities”. I don’t work on improving my SEO (search engine optimization), nor do I care how you found my blog.

This blog is now dying. Actually, I believe it’s been dead for a while.

I am no longer – what I believe to have been – a member of the blogging community. There is very little community. It’s a shark tank full of people looking to make a quick buck and get stuff and if you happen to step on some toes to do it? So be it. There are some great people whom I’ve kept in contact with, but for the most part, my blog reader and twitter feed has transcended into white noise. There are fewer voices with a message; there are even less with ones I want to hear. That’s not to say that your writing is falling on deaf ears, rather that it’s just getting hard to discern the heartfelt writing. With FTC regulations, disclosure statements and disclaimers on satirical writing, it just seems so contrived and fake, even though the intention is quite the opposite.

Transparency is a fickle bitch.

As much as we’re transparent about what we’re writing and saying online, it’s behind the scenes where we are the most clouded,  contrary and unethical. Talking about people, their actions, their writing, their reviews, their “free gifts”, their sell-out attitudes. I see no disclaimers on the hateful statements spewed back and forth, no transparency in the relationships we are pretending to have.

I am no different.

I’ve sat back and watched for months as I fought my own internal battle of facing the truth. I’ve sat back and debated whether or not I owe you, readers and friends, a statement regarding things that have happened behind the scenes. You know, in the name of transparency. Am I being dishonest with you by not speaking out? Am I making myself appear guilty by allowing those who have spoken out – albeit inaccurately – on my behalf? Because every. single. fucking. time. I take to this keyboard, I stall. I am paralyzed by thoughts of people thinking that everything I write from here on out is a fucking lie because of something they’ve heard elsewhere. I think about the links and the emails flying back and forth saying, Did you see what she wrote now? I can’t believe she said that. What a fuckin’ liar. She is dead to me. After all this and she has the nerve.. Why does she even bother?

Dearest friends have said to let it go. My wonderful and loyal friends have said it nothing to worry about and that I acted out of good faith and love. My good friends, the people THAT KNOW ME are right.

But what about the others? The ones that I concern myself with when they really have shown they deserve little of my time. Why? Why do I give even an iota of shit for what they think?

Because I am human.

I am just like you: I want acceptance, I want love, I want people to care about me too. I want forgiveness, friendship and relationships. Because I am human.

Without transparency I feel I am stifling myself. I can write here over and over that I don’t care what you think and that it’s time to move on, but the truth is I do care, and I can’t move on – because EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. I open this computer I think about the people who have (may have) heard something and are taking it verbatim. I think about the fact that no one has even ASKED my side. People I thought were friends have taken what they’ve heard as gospel and haven’t even given me a chance. It angers me, it hurts me and it’s not fair.

But it’s not only about me and my perceived conflicts. There are people who I KNOW have been talking shit about some people I care deeply for and then they are playing nice to their faces and telling them they have their backs when they definitely do not. I know they say they are friends and “would do anything for them”  and then have been calling them hurtful and hateful things behind their backs. You forget, my friends, the internet is very much like high school. Things are said and they DO get back to the people you’re talking about; even if you’re calling someone a “crazy bitch” in jest, it may not be perceived that way in some conversations.

I think we owe it to ourselves – as compassionate, responsible and caring adults to just cut the shit. If you don’t like someone or something they’ve said, so be it. Deal with it. Move on. But the name calling? The hurtful and evil comments about people you *think* you know are really getting us nowhere. Because at the end of the day, has it made your life *that* much better by saying such evil things about someone else? No. Does letting someone know “for their benefit” that a friend of theirs has wronged someone else? No. Because no matter what you say, they will continue to make their own decisions in life and your hurtful words of “concern” and “support” are only going to make you look like that fickle bitch, Transparency.

Driving home from work I turned up the radio to escape the day. One of my recent favourite songs came on – Please Don’t Leave Me by Pink. I cranked it louder and began singing at the top of my lungs.

Then.

I really heard the words.

The words which I’ve heard before yet didn’t really think about until that moment.

I don’t know if I can yell any louder
How many time I’ve kicked you outta here?
Or said something insulting?

That Lump began to form in my throat. Unable to swallow it down, my eyes welled up with tears.

I sang louder in the hopes of drowning out my thoughts. The thoughts of how I’ve treated my husband. The thoughts of how I’ve battered him with my words repeatedly; digging deep to find something – anything – I could say that would garner some sort of reaction.

To hurt him.

How did I become so obnoxious?
What is it with you that makes me act like this?
I’ve never been this nasty

For as long as I can remember I have verbally assaulted him whenever we’ve had an argument. It was three and a half years into our relationship when I first threw something at him fully intended to harm him. Though I haven’t thrown anything in years, words are still my weapon of choice.

I forgot to say out loud how beautiful you really are to me
I cannot be without, you’re my perfect little punching bag
And I need you, I’m sorry

I’ve told him to leave.

I’ve told him I didn’t know why we were together.

I’ve said that if it weren’t for the children, I would have left a long time ago.

Can’t you tell that this is all just a contest?
The one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest
But baby I don’t mean it
I mean it, I promise

I don’t have a clue why I say these things; why I want to cause him heartache. I don’t know why I think hurting him would make things better; better for whom? I know I don’t feel better after it’s done, and I’m damn sure he doesn’t feel all that great. So why? Why do I feel the need to belittle and degrade him?

Please don’t leave me
I always say how I don’t need you
But it’s always gonna come right back to this
Please, don’t leave me

It’s a two way street. We’re both guilty of verbally assaulting each other but I can’t account for his reasons, only my own – none of which I have.

I’ve often wondered if we were together for all the wrong reasons. We began dating on a whim in college. It was summer break, there was only a small group of us remaining behind to work or complete extra course throughout the summer semester. Mike and I began hanging out more frequently and our friendship quickly crossed boundaries moving rapidly towards an exclusive relationship. From there we became engaged; bound. Though we waited another five years before we actually got married it sometimes still feels as though we rushed things.

I’ve been with him since I was eighteen. I’ve only known my adult life with him, and though I’ve grown, sometimes I feel as if he thinks he’s still living the bachelor life and we’re still in college. Much of our relationship was based on sexual attraction; the older we’ve gotten, the busier our lives have gotten, the more that has changed. It seems as though instead of learning to love each other past the sexual chemistry, we’ve struggled to know each other at all. We’re stuck in limbo.

Please don’t leave me
I always say how I don’t need you
But it’s always gonna come right back to this
Please, don’t leave me

I feel as though now I am just a mother figure for him to rely on.

Remind him to pay his tickets.

Make the phone calls.

Book the appointments.

Pay the bills.

Pick up the kids.

Make the dinner.

Wash the laundry.

Put the clothes away.

Make the bed.

I feel like he gets a free ride.

He will argue to the death that that’s not the case; though, I cannot help but feel as though I carry a significant amount of the responsibilities in this relationship.

It makes me bitter.

I resent that while I was home caring for the kids he was able to leave the house for the day.

For the record: I am extremely, undeniably happy that I had that opportunity and would never change that.

I resent that he would call me at the end of his day solely to find out what was on the menu for dinner. I resent that he would come home and comment that I got to be home all day doing nothing while he had to work: that he had to go to work and bust his ass all day while I got to be home – doing nothing but sit on the computer all day. His digs have left me rather indignant.

Maybe he is bitter that I was home, I don’t know.

Now that I’m back to work it’s been a never ending battle of wills as I fight to divvy the household duties while I feel he fights to keep his child-like freedom.

I think it’s played a considerable part in how I’ve been struggling and so miserable as of late.

:::

The other night I blew up over his caulking job on the kitchen sink. We fought. I yelled and said everything and anything I could to hurt him once again.

Over caulking, people.

Then as The Guilt set in I decided it was about time I tried to put into words how I’ve been feeling.

I told him how I’ve felt let down and that when I married him I thought I was gaining a partner, not a child. How we’re supposed to be a team and it feels as though we’ve been on opposite sides for so long we don’t even know how to support each other. We don’t know how to be there for one another.

I *know* there’s more beyond just the chemistry. There has to be. I know I love him. I know he loves me. We’ve been through so much and still depend on each other greatly, but – shouldn’t we have found that something by now? He says we have it but I am so filled with anger lately that I just can’t see.

I think he could be right.

Surrounded by unpacked moving boxes, I feel claustrophobic. I can’t get motivated to unpack them, search out a spot for their content or enjoy their existence in my life. There are no pictures I want to hang on my walls; walls which are still lacking fresh paint and are littered with scraps of wallpaper reminiscent someonelse’s life. I have no excitement to decorate or mold this house into a home; most days I have no ambition to get out of bed.

I am angry. So angry. All the time. My children are constantly whining, crying, asking questions, repeating “Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?” for what seems like an eternity; they’re begging, bribing and making deals. They’re being – wait for it – CHILDREN yet I find myself reacting quickly without thought. I yell, I threaten and I walk away. I take my aggression out on my husband verbally; he retaliates and it’s a never ending vicious circle of awful and hateful words. Sometimes in front of the kids.

Then the guilt.

The dreaded, unrelenting Mommy Guilt sets in and I find myself wallowing in front of mindless television while I attempt to numb any feeling by way of my emotional eating. It’s only a temporary remedy because it comes back bigger, faster and stronger the next time.

I have dreams. Dreams I fear will never come to fruition due to circumstances which have altered who I am. I used to be an organized and ambitious person. I used to love going out with friends, socializing and meeting new people. I used to dress up, do my hair and love searching out the best outfit. I used to take pride in my work, enjoy my job and have some semblance of professionalism. I never knew the word can’t. Now? Met with even the smallest road block, I give up.

I hate this new me. I hate her with every fiber of my being, yet I do nothing to try and rid her from my life. It’s like watching from a distance as she gives up and slink away, shoulders slumped. I want to yell at her to shape up, take control and love her life; it’s the only one she gets. Take those chances, buy that new outfit, get your hair done; because really? It’s a small price to pay for a little control and happiness.

That girl? She’s a roadblock. She’s keeping me from traveling, seeing my friends, having night’s out and laughing.

Oh, the laughing. We used to laugh all the time. I mean, that’s how this all started (well, she has a HUGE part in it too).

I want to tell her that stress is a way of life: it’s all about how you manage it. She NEEDS to get a grip. She needs to stop yelling at my husband before he’s had enough and gives up. There’s only so much a person can take and it’s really not fair to expect the world of one person. He’s only human. She needs to see that. She needs to see that men just aren’t programmed like women: everyone knows that but her.

Maybe she needs to seek some help that maybe just a general practitioner can’t provide? Maybe someone else can tell her what is wrong and what steps she can take to improve it? Maybe someone else can tell her that medication isn’t the be all to end all and there are other methods to achieve the happiness she so desires?

Maybe she’ll listen to someone else.

:::

Thank you all for your comments on my latest entries. I know you’re there for my and your support means more to me than I can even say. I’ve tried a couple times to go back and respond to comments, but end up writing novels and then deleting them so I gave up.

I’ve made an appointment to also see a chiropractor to try and rid myself of these awful headaches I’ve been getting. From my evaluation she said “She’s got her work cut out for her”.  I see her on Saturday for my first appointment. Monday I see my family doctor and I am thinking I should maybe print out these latest entries for her…. I don’t know though. Should I?

I’m fighting some demons at the moment. My depression seems to be taking a tailspin dive into darkness. I’ve been fighting this for weeks as stuff that is seemingly out of my control has been taking over. I think I made the mistake of trying to decrease my use of anti-depressants all while I’ve been returning from maternity leave, moving, facing reprimand at work, and constant fighting at home. I mean, there’s only so much a person can take, mentally – because physically I’m fine. Aside from the weight I’ve gained from my non-stop emotional eating and my flaming carpel tunnel syndrome, I am fine.

Mentally? I feel as though I haven’t slept in weeks even though I’ve been getting what seems like a solid 6 hours during the week and then about 9 or 10 on the weekends. But…I’ve begun self-diagnosing and I think I have sleep apnea. Based on what people have told me about my sleep patterns, my snoring, etc. I’ve decided to talk to my doctor about it. Sleep apnea can also increase symptoms of depression, so there’s that. I’ve been having horrible brain-splitting-in-half migraines so bad I have to hide in my room and cry for silence.

I can’t help but want to run away and hide from everything. Re-group and come back stronger and better. I just can’t. There are children, jobs, a house and family. There isn’t time for me to escape and wallow in self pity and try to fix myself when there is so much around me that needs fixing too.

I feel suffocated. I feel down. I feel worthless. I feel like nothing I do satisfies anyone. My boss, my husband, my parents. I feel as though I can do nothing right by anyone. I am even failing this stupid blog, my other site and my friends – both on-line and off.

I mean, I know it’s not all bad. I have a brand new (to me) house, brand spankin’ new shiny! appliances, beautiful children and a wonderful (most of the time), caring (most of the time), and helpful (sometimes) husband. I am not that hard done by, really.

It’s the little things which I’ve escalated and increased into BIG THINGS: like two weeks ago, Mike was driving down a super busy highway. A wheel chock flew off the back of a transport truck and THROUGH our windshield.

He had Hudson with him. Things *could* have been So. Much. Worse. than the replacing of a hood and a windshield. Had he not taken a chance and swerved into another lane of traffic it would have hit him head on. I could have lost them both in an instant two Fridays ago. Thinking about it now still makes me tear up. But they’re fine. Everyone’s fine! Yet, I don’t move on. I think about it, I worry, I stress. I work myself into this stressball of panic.

The daycare incident still weighs extremely heavy on my mind. I can’t shake it. I’ve tried valiantly to let it go, to *know* that my child is fine and that nothing happened. But ‘What Ifs’ cheap back constantly when he’s whiny, not listening and acting out.

I have been now living in constant fear that I no longer have the job security that I once thought I did. I don’t have the comfort of knowing that my employer has my back as they once did. This industry is extremely volatile at the moment. There is little to no work – I know, I bid on new projects. There are none.
Mike is currently at home. He’s been able to get a couple days here and there to at least have a couple hundred dollars to bring home and help keep us afloat, but there’s nothing going on at the moment. That? My friends, is the joys of living a life of construction. We hurry up and wait. Constantly.

So ya, I’m a complete Debbie Downer. I have nothing even remotely positive to spew forth on the interwebs lately.

I think about you a lot! I miss you all.

Most of all.

I miss me.

(I know, selfish bitch. I can’t help it. It’s in my genes.)

Falling apart at the seams at the moment. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in four years 2 weeks. I am like the walking dead these days.

We’re installing our dishwasher for the fifth time.

We still have working dryer or microwave (but they sure are pretty!).

Hudson’s been sick with diarrhea, throwing up AND teething. Kicked out of daycare on Thursday for barfing on the teacher. (Okay, so it wasn’t because he barfed on the teacher but instead, just because he barfed.)

Carter has been just one big clusterfuck of MELTDOWNS. He’s acting out for attention I’m sure and because his whole world has been turned upside down. (Still concerned about the whole situation, but there’s been no updates as of yet. These meltdowns have been fucking with my brain too. Now I keep thinking is it because we’ve moved? Please let this attitude be because we’ved moved.)

I’ve been told that I am probably one of the worst housekeepers in existence; a that’s a story for another day because I am too hurt and upset about the whole thing right now. I wouldn’t want to say something hurtful and mean while I am angry. That would just be irresponsible now wouldn’t it? Ahem.

I have no internet, cable or telephone until approximately between 8am and 5pm tomorrow and I could really use some anonymous blogging at the moment.

I have no air conditioning and it’s hotter than The Gates of Hell in my house. Furnace is being installed on Wednesday, along with my new air conditioning unit. I was able to swim for about 10 minutes last night before a colossal downpour and thunderstorm struck finding us relegated to the house, again.

Found leaks in my laundry room with the rain and realized that some of it may just be condensation because it’s SO. FUCKING. HOT.

IZ NEED SUM TYME.

We all live in our own little worlds of which we chose to share bits and pieces when we have a personal blog such as this. Those little pieces are sometimes meld together by others who make assumptions based on an iota of information and believe them to be true. People make assumptions about another person whom they really know nothing about; they typecast them into little boxes to be labeled and filed away where they may or may not be used against that person again at a later date.

I am no different.

I have a tendency to go off half-cocked sometimes. I get frustrated and angry and I voice that anger.

Case in point: That Post Which I Will Not Link To In Hopes That It Will Die a Fast and Miserable Death.

It’s not one of my finer moments. I know that.

I do not take back what I wrote.

They are my words.

I said them and at the time I meant exactly what I said. Going back and reading That Post Which I Will Not Link To In Hopes That It Will Die a Fast and Miserable Death makes me cringe. I said some pretty shitty stuff.

Them are the breaks.

I can live with that.

They are my words whether I like it or not.

And maybe one day, if I’m lucky enough I’ll be eating them as I ‘work’ from my kitchen table.

Oh, the work quoting was a joke. No actually – a fucking joke. Now no hate in the comments please.

That shitty verbal diarrhea came from a cloud of anger and a feeling of being completely disregarded one of my most vulnerable times. Returning to work in order to buy our a home of our own has been a necessity which we’ve been working towards for many years. We live well within our means and have scrimped and saved to buy our family a home.

The shitty end of the deal? The people that know nothing of me except a link to a shitty post I wrote at a time of great displeasure and hurt. A time when I hadn’t come to terms with the fact that I am was miserable with my lot in life. A time when I hadn’t done anything about it but lash out at those around me. They have assumed (based on comments I’ve read here and elsewhere) that I am a money driven bitch coveting overpriced Electrolux appliances to go along with my lavish lifestyle which I’ve chosen over my children. That hurt more than I can even put into words.

My boys are my world.

Everything I do is for them. Everything.

Aside from that, I had put myself in a position where I’ve hurt a few people dear to me. Some have voiced their dislike, some have pretended not to be upset – though it’s quite obvious they are, and some have just walked away.

I haven’t figured out how I feel about that.

Maybe I deserve to lose some I thought were friends – after-all, they likely thought the same of me until I wrote That Post Which I Will Not Link To In Hopes That It Will Die a Fast and Miserable Death.

Then I think: well, what kind of friends are they really if they can just throw their hands up and walk away because of one shitty thing? Had it been a personal attack then sure I could see where they would be coming from, but – I just don’t know. I’m okay with their decisions because I’ve had enough bad friends in my life; someone who can just walk away like that is free to go.

But then: I don’t want them to go. I don’t do well with people thinking ill of me. I’d hate to think that in a moment of weakness I pushed away all those readers that vowed to never come back those people I considered friends.

*sigh*

I’m still obviously dealing with the aftermath of my verbal diarrhea.

Do they make Imodium for that?

________

* hierarchy of suffering is a post by Megan which I pimp out as much as I can. A post which I should read more often too. Obviously.

UPDATE #249, 576, 944:

WE GOT THE HOUSE!!

The house is OURS!

OMGOMGOMG!!!1!!

(if you know a pool boy looking for summer work please forward me is resume (HA HA HA!) and a chest shot – not a head shot, a CHEST shot.)

:::

Updated June 18: So we had made an offer which was countered by the seller (that’s the part I mentioned in the first update below) then the original buyer had 24 hours to make their decision whether or not to back out of the deal or firm up their offer.

They firmed up so we lost the house.

But!!

My agent called this morning to tell me that the first buyer’s financing fell through and that the house is still available should we want it.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

Mike is so excited – in his calm, cool, and collected manner. I am too, but now I want to test out the market a little more since I had resigned to the fact that the house was gone! *sigh*

So we’re going to see a couple homes tonight and then make our decision from there.

I can’t freaking believe it!! OMG.

:::

UPDATE!!

We called our agent last night for another walk-through and I was surprised about how old and Granny-ish I thought it was because it’s really not! There’s cosmetic changes definitely, but nothing that has to be immediate except for a new furnace since the existing one is the original.

We made an offer last night and after one counter offer it was executed! Now we wait to see if the original buyer will waive their conditions to get the house. If they waive then we’ve lost the property, but if they decide to back out or take to long to reply (they have until 9am tomorrow) then it’s ours!!!

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

_______________________________

So now that I’ve alienated a good portion of you and lost sleep over being such an opinionated douchebag,*ahem*  let’s move on, shall we?

Because ZOMG!!!1! I think we’re buying a house. At least, we’re trying damn hard to buy a house.

I’m freaking out, in a good way and really hoping that everything falls in line and we’re successful at SOMETHING. Because I. want. this. house.

It’s big but completely out-dated. It’s currently a granny house (flower wallpaper), stucco walls with barn board in the basement and navy blue carpet throughout.

Ya, hot right?

(Don’t worry, if we’re successful you’ll see pictures!!)

But I have so many plans and so many ideas to make it all mine. Everything just screams I-will-be-perfection once I get everything painted and updated in 2020.

It’s a huge 5 bedroom house with a pool and in our selling range only because it’s in need of a new furnace, windows and a new kitchen.

Simple, right?

I’ve watched enough HGTV; I can handle a home renovation. Pffft. Easy peasy. I seen it all done on TV!

/sarcasm

OMG! Home renovations! Buying a house!

I don’t even think I was this nervous when I squished a 9lb 6oz baby from my lady bits.