I remember my first entry in OpenDiary about 20 years ago actually. It was melodramatic. I’m surprised I got any friends really because the level of despair was tangible. Anyway. Here I am, on Prosebox, feeling the need to write, and it is indeed an episode of despair.
I am tired.
I am so fucking tired.
I am warm. There is a heat wave in the UK.... 40-something degrees yesterday. The hottest its ever been. EVER. I sweat from places I didn’t even know could sweat. I feel nastyyyy.
Life is also.. well… how do you put it.? If I was a bright shiny penny kind of person with a sunny disposition and the capability of seeing life on the bright side, I’d say my life is uneventful. Its the same thing over and over and over.... the same argument with the teenager over and over and over… the same job day-in-day-out over and over and over, and at work, the same old boring (oh so boring) pointless complaints of my co-workers over and over and over.
If I was more proactive I would change my job.
Not sure how to change the arguments with the teenager though… Hormones. Who would have them.
No, I don’t have an issue with my child, she is wonderful. She is funny and smart and beautiful and patient and kind. She is also sassy and head strong and a force to be reckoned with, and honestly, most days I just don’t have the energy to reckon with the reckoning.. something like that… ugh.. Whatever.
God I’m warm.
I’ve taken to writing to the Samaritans periodically. The problem with the Samaritans is that they simply listen.... and I can expect no more… I understand that. There is no comfort in it though. Just an outlet. There are no solutions. Just a small release but most of the time I don’t think the release is enough. It just tides me over, but also leaves me feeling more alone and more fucked up than in the moments before I clicked on the Samaritans website. I guess its tantamount to self harming. Not that I’ve done that… (well that is another story for another day and totally not what you think)… but I guess self harming is like that. Its a release, a distraction, a ‘something’ in the middle of nothing… a ‘something’ in the middle of great pain and loneliness… and afterwards, after the Samaritans chat, or the cut so to speak, you just think, ‘Well, what the hell happened there huh’… and you pick yourself up, and wipe your tears away and go back to the world and know that you have to find better ways of dealing with things.
Lately I feel like I need to make a last push. I need to quit my dead end job of 13 years that I took as a pit-stop after my daughter was born. I need to get back to ‘my normal’ job and my salary. Its not just about the money.. its about wanting to feel that kind of passion about something again.
For those of you whoever read me previously, the Monsieur passed away a few years ago. I got a message saying he had died, and I never found out the reason why. I miss him still. I think about him often. Funny how one person can creep into your heart like that, and just bury themselves there and even after death they remain part of you, even if you were no longer part of their world. I miss him.
I want to write again. I want to change my job and earn good money again. I might venture into dating again. I want to live. I feel like mostly I have just been ‘getting by’ and ‘trying to do the right thing’, and ‘making ends meet’… when really I should be living… I should be out there having an amazing life and being happy and experiencing all those amazing things out there that could make me happy.
I’m not being a good parent by rotting at home. I’m not being a good parent by being tired all the time and worrying about money. I’m not being a good parent by being surly and sensitive.
Things have got to change.
I miss my OD peeps, because I know this will be read by nobody.
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