A Long Two and a Half Weeks

Yes, yes, I’m aware I suck at updating. On April 12th I had surgery and I’ve been a little all over the place since then. So when I’m bad about updating under normal circumstances, I flat out suck when I’m not feeling well and under a steady stream of pain medications.

Things haven’t changed a bit. Actually Mom just interrupted my blogging with her steps clicking down the hall, wrenching open my door without a single knock, and muttering, “Asshat’s here,” as a warning not to leave my room. Well, you know, she used his actual name, but for the purposes of this blog, and my own petty soul – Asshat.

Last week Mom and I got into an enormous screaming match that resulted in both of us crying. I’m certainly not blameless, like I said some mean stuff, but never in my life has my mother yelled at me like that. It was awful. We both felt really rotten over it afterward. She told me it was my fault we’re so tight on money, that Asshat’s $1200 a month hurt her, to which I responded that I’ve told her since the night of the fight I would do anything to help with finances and she’s time and time again turned me down. She said it wasn’t like my writing jobs were real jobs anyway. I think she felt bad about that one as soon as it was out of her mouth.

Right now I’m writing articles for two companies, academic papers for another, and doing an editing internship for a publishing house, but the work is erratic – some ad hoc and other bids I have to place. I’ve been scouring job boards for remote full-time opportunities, but until then I am doing what I can. And I know it’s not a lot. I’m struggling with the bills I have (not to mention a vacation Big is making me go on in June), so I can’t help but feel her slip of the tongue was more her actual thoughts than something mean spat out to hurt me.

We apologized and things are semi-normal, but with my anxiety, I can’t help but be paranoid that this is how everyone sees me – a worthless person with a fake job. On my particularly bad nights, which have been a lot lately, I can’t help but agree with them. It’s gotten so bad, I’ve wondered whether I should ask them to up my Celexa dosage from 20mg to 40mg. If I wasn’t worried about picking smoking back up, I’d honestly would have been drinking a bit lately to take the edge off. That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?

I’ve debated on whether or not I wanted to mention this, but it’s eating me alive, so I’m just going to be out with it. Mr. Beetle is on vacation…with his wife. I hate it. I hate every bit of it. I just don’t know what to think. He’s seriously the one thread keeping me tied together, the one thing keeping me from falling apart. When I found out I cried, which made him cry. He said he didn’t want to go, that he was dreading it, and it may make me stupid, but I believe him.

It’s like…I don’t want to be a fool. And I know I’m probably going to end up in that role. But I’m in such a bad place mentally that I can’t bear to be cut off from my one ally. And it’s not like in a manipulative “you can only count on me” sort of way. Mr. Beetle is, despite what you might think, a really great guy. He treats me better than any other guy I’ve been with and, Christ, I’ve been engaged. I believe him when he says he wants out of his marriage and is going to end it – and I can see for myself that he’s non-confrontational, how that is slowing things up. I mean, he’s met my fucking mom. He came to my house like five or six times in the past weeks following my surgery, driving over an hour each way. Granted, yes, he’s not going about leaving his marriage in a good way and I’m just as guilty of contributing to that. But that’s honestly the one red flag there is about him and to hear him tell it, she’s caused a lot of emotional abuse. I know he’s dealt with some issues – he’s called me crying. He’s got crap self-esteem, even worse than mine which is saying something. And so, again, it may make me foolish, but I believe him.

I’m not even so upset about him being with his wife on vacation as I am about not having him close – not being able to call him or see him. I feel like my support system has vanished for the week. He senses it too, without even being told. He goes out on the beach around six every morning to call me and manages to slip in another two or three calls through the day. Just so I know I’m not alone. A bad person, maybe. But not alone.

Mom and Asshat are leaving in the morning for vacation, so I have the house to myself for a few days. While I once would have found the idea relaxing, now it’s a bit depressing. I don’t know, I’ve just been having a hard time lately.

I graduate next week, so that’s exciting. It’s been a long trip (took twice as long as it should have between two transfers, five majors, two semesters off for internships, and dropping out twice due to depression). I fixed it, though. I’ll walk across that stage with a 4.0, member of two honor societies, seven time President’s List member, and recipient of the Outstanding Student Award. Maybe one day I’ll lay out the narrative of how fucked my college experience has been. If anyone is the poster child of being able to fix fuck-ups with miraculous turnaround, it’s me.

Sorry. As you can probably tell, I’m not in the best mood. It’s not even that anything in particular is wrong, but rather that I just feel weird. It’s some place between anxiety and normal. I told Mom earlier I wasn’t sad, but felt I was going to burst into tears all the same. If I hadn’t have just passed my nine-month mark of no smoking, I surely would have been sucking down two packs a day with how I’ve been feeling. It’s been hard. I’ve wanted to smoke a lot lately. Mr. Beetle gets mad when I don’t tell him I’ve been craving. He likes to talk me through it, make sure I’m okay. He hates that I hold in the urges and suffer a bit.

Anyway, I think that’s enough for now. Trying to get back on a regular schedule. Mine has gotten all out of whack, but Big and Mr. Beetle think it’s an important strategy to curbing my anxiety and general crazy. Who knows?

Good night and until next time,

Dee

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