This post is for anyone who is struggling.
For anyone who is sick and tired of blow after blow after blow.
For anyone who feels like they can’t catch a fucking break.
And I hate vague posts. Vaguebooking.
You know, when someone posts something on Facebook along the lines of I just don’t know what to do anymore…
Or even better, just one word.
But as much as I hate it, I’m about to do it.
I received some really shitty news yesterday.
It’s not something I can share. Not right now anyway.
And before you go crazy trying to figure out what it is, all my family members are healthy. Nobody is in the hospital. There has been no infidelity in my marriage.
To be honest, it doesn’t really matter what the bad news is.
Bad news is bad news.
It’s fairly major bad news.
And you know what?
I’m fucking sick of bad news.
I’m sick of hardship and sadness and worry and anger and anxiety and the fucking resulting depression.
I’M FUCKING OVER IT.
I know better than anyone else what I need to do to get through this.
I need to ask for help where I can get it.
I need to continue to exercise.
I need to get enough sleep.
I need to eat well.
I need to find a therapist. Like yesterday.
I need to take a shower and continue to show up for my kids.
I need to take care of myself so I can take care of them.
Because if I fall apart, then things will get seriously fucked up.
But you know what? I don’t want to do any of those healthy things.
I’m sitting here at the computer typing.
But I really want to be on the couch, binge watching Netflix in an effort to forget about reality for a little while.
I want to eat every single carb in my kitchen. And my neighbor’s kitchen.
I want to call in sick to work and drink a bottle of wine.
I want to call one of my friends who has a “prescription” for medical marijuana and go get completely out of my mind stoney baloney.
I want to be numb. Because this fucking blows.
You know what else I want to do?
I want to punch every single person who tells me that “God has a funny way of teaching us patience” or “Sometimes you’re not getting what you want because something better is planned for you instead” or “God never gives you more than you can handle” directly in the face. Hard.
The Fall down seven times, stand up eight tattoo I got on my forearm in December?
I want to Indian burn that motherfucker right off of myself.
I don’t want to be inspired. I don’t want to be motivated. I don’t want to be challenged.
I don’t want to be positive or optimistic. I don’t want to look at the glass as half full.
I don’t want to fucking do anything.
I’m frustrated. I’m worried. I’m angry. And I’m fucking exhausted.
But my kids are counting on me.
So as soon as I hit publish on this post, even though I want to do every possible unhealthy (and ultimately ineffective) thing there is to do in order to deal with the bullshit I’m experiencing right now, I’m going to get out of this chair, exercise, eat, take a shower, and then get ready to go to work.
I am going to do my best to show up. I’m going to think about the people who are counting on me.
But I really, really, really don’t want to.
I just want to sit here and cry.
If you are in the same spot, if you are struggling, if you feel like you can’t catch a break, if you are fucking over everything, I’m not gonna try to pump you up.
I’m not going to tell you that Tough times don’t last; tough people do. I’m not going to tell you You’ll get through this. (But you will).
I just wanted to tell you that if you are tired and dejected and feeling hopeless because of whatever your string of shitty things is, I know how bad it sucks. It fucking blows.
I totally get it. Hang in there.
I’m right there with you.