WARNING: I will probably swear in this post. Don't read if you are easily offended. Then again, if you are easily offended, why do you even read this blog?
I don't think life sucks. Just sometimes. Take last week for instance. I didn't blog. I don't think you would of wanted me to anyway. But truly, sometimes life sucks balls and then you move on. It's not a permanent thing.
Yesterday I had a meltdown. Since being on Prozac AND Wellbutrin I don't have them as often, but yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back. Let me see if I can remember what happened so I can re-live my misery to tell to you. See how self-sacrificing I am? All y'all are so fortunate to have me!
Last week was a freaking overwhelming. It was "I suck as a mom, wife week". Maybe we need to declare is a national holiday like "Hamburger Awareness Week". There needs to be a "I suck as a mom, but not really week". We all have them. I knew I wasn't going to go all ape-shit, but I felt like shit. You know what I'm talking about. Male or female we have ALL been there. If you haven't then you are self-medicating with something. It was like a black wool blanket was thrown over my head. These pre-med emotions came back like they had never left. Here's what I was thinking:
So in the midst of my overwhelmingness, I thought that I could paint my daughter's room, hang a few cute things and be done by Sunday.
There are times when I am a dip-shit.
Captain Obvious is a slob. Her room had layers of trash "paper, gum wrappers etc". The more we cleaned the angrier I got. Then I thought that if I was a more consistent mother this wouldn't of happened. We pulled every last scrap of paper, every sock, nail polish bottle and colored pencil out of her room and into the living room. The dishes still were in the sink from two nights before, so the whole house looked like the start of a soon-to-be Hoarders episode.
I don't think life sucks. Just sometimes. Take last week for instance. I didn't blog. I don't think you would of wanted me to anyway. But truly, sometimes life sucks balls and then you move on. It's not a permanent thing.
Yesterday I had a meltdown. Since being on Prozac AND Wellbutrin I don't have them as often, but yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back. Let me see if I can remember what happened so I can re-live my misery to tell to you. See how self-sacrificing I am? All y'all are so fortunate to have me!
Last week was a freaking overwhelming. It was "I suck as a mom, wife week". Maybe we need to declare is a national holiday like "Hamburger Awareness Week". There needs to be a "I suck as a mom, but not really week". We all have them. I knew I wasn't going to go all ape-shit, but I felt like shit. You know what I'm talking about. Male or female we have ALL been there. If you haven't then you are self-medicating with something. It was like a black wool blanket was thrown over my head. These pre-med emotions came back like they had never left. Here's what I was thinking:
- Why can't I control what I eat? I'm the heaviest I have ever been and I suck.
- Why can't I persevere and get the damn house clean? Instead I watch TV.
- How do other mom's seem to have it all together, so much better than I?
- Maybe I should give up on the whole weight-loss thing. The whole meal plan, cleaning plan, getting my kids to do ANYTHING plan. It's a hopeless cause.
- I can't do anything on my own. Why is that? Am I so stupid that I have to have my friend hold my hand while I do ANYTHING? How pathetic is THAT?
So in the midst of my overwhelmingness, I thought that I could paint my daughter's room, hang a few cute things and be done by Sunday.
There are times when I am a dip-shit.
Captain Obvious is a slob. Her room had layers of trash "paper, gum wrappers etc". The more we cleaned the angrier I got. Then I thought that if I was a more consistent mother this wouldn't of happened. We pulled every last scrap of paper, every sock, nail polish bottle and colored pencil out of her room and into the living room. The dishes still were in the sink from two nights before, so the whole house looked like the start of a soon-to-be Hoarders episode.
Then the painting began. I HATE painting. Now I hate painting with a middle schooler. Captain Obvious would dip her trim brush in the bucket of paint, raise it up and paint would drip everywhere. I'm very particular about my paint brushes. I don't like it when paint gets on the handle, or creeps its way up and collects in the metal part of the brush. It ruins a very good brush and there is no need for that. I sound like my dad.
Okay, I have to pause here for a bit to get ready for work, but I promise I will finish my story. I might be more motivated to r
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