Just a Moment

Do you ever have a moment where it feels 

Life is redundant

What am I doing

Who cares

Words on a screen

Time passing by

None of it matters

But you have to do it anyway 

Drag yourself along 

Beg God for help

Empty

Alone

You think of some way to keep going

So you can survive the Now

Intolerable at best

Dread

Unsatisfying for the most part

Except for intermittent breaths

Of gratitude 

But too far and few between

What does that even mean anyway

The road is long

I’m walking slow

Pulling a wagon with two kids in it

And looking ahead more than I look at them

Food, shelter, warmth, rest

Hopefully they get plenty of joy

Even if I’m sucked dry of it

Trying to keep them alive and happy

I should be so thankful

To give all of myself 

By myself 

A complete failure at relationships 

They’ve all ended 

I’m not enough

Except I pretend God loves me

Act as if

When really I’m not special at all

One among many 

No different

Not unique

And no one cares

A life that doesn’t matter

We all move on

Everyone is just a memory

Unless they’re with you

You’ll have to tell me what that’s like

Although you’re likely ungrateful, too

You’re no different either

Not special

Not unique 

No one has any real value

In the grand scheme of things.

Him

It never matters who “he” is,

I always miss “him”,

Until I have “him” again,

And then,

When I do,

“He” won’t be enough,

Because I’m not enough,

And since I’m not enough,

No one else ever will be.

Winter is Coming

Having my daughter with me is really my favorite thing (and my son, too, of course).

She just fell asleep on me while watching “A Bug’s Life”. In the movie, a group of gang-banging grasshoppers force a colony of ants to fork over their harvest each year, and this year they decide to be especially mean, doubling their order. So, the colony’s mad scientist, Flik, who is usually making a mess of things, comes up with a way to save the day. He volunteers himself to go on a trek to find a troupe of bigger bugs to hopefully help the ant colony fend off their foes - but the bugs he finds are circus bugs, not fighters. They think he’s hiring them to come put on a show, and neither party know the real truth until much later, when it’s just about “go time” with the grasshoppers. Flik, the colony inventor, still manages to come up with an ingenious plan using his skills and smarts, and of course, it all works out in the end.

And isn’t that just what life seems to be about - problem-solving? We’re hungry, we have to eat. We’re tired, we have to sleep. We’re cold, fix that. Dirty, fix that. Bored, fix that. Broke, fix that. Lonely, horny, sad, angry...accept, change, or suffer. Over and over, day in, day out, ad infinitum.

Until last year, one of my “problems” had always been an oppressive, angry alcoholic who wanted more from me than I could give. It’s no wonder I still keep trying to be “rescued”. A 28-year pattern isn’t going to change overnight, so I’m gonna cut myself some slack on this one. 

I am no longer living with an oppressor, so that problem’s finally been solved. No more grasshoppers - check. But my colony of three is a small one, and I’m the only one sowing and reaping, here. So, it’s time to get creative and come up with a new harvest plan - and fast.

Winter is coming.

Meanwhile, I’m grateful for what I’ve got - and for what I’ve not.

Meeting My Own Needs

By the end of the next two weeks, I will have needed to secure some kind of additional employment, since winter is always a slow season for wedding, engagement and family photography. I have a gift-certificate promotion ready to pull out of my sleeve, but it won’t be enough to make January’s rent, let alone provide for Christmas. Tax season and a Valentine’s Day wedding balance will soon follow, but unless I make some other money somehow sooner...

I’ll be fucked.

At least, in one sense of the word. 

Instinct... survival. I’ve come to understand that that’s what this has all been about, all along. A (heterosexual) woman looks to “get a man” to help provide for her and her children - and she uses sex to do it. 

It’s only natural, I especially realize after looking at Maslowe’s Hierarchy of Needs:

Basic survival instinct. 

Unfortunately, and ironically, using sex to survive sure backfired like a motherfucker when I contracted a deadly virus that way.

(And I always thought I just wanted to be “loved”.)

Without being able even to meet my own basic needs, it’s no wonder why I could never meet my “esteem” needs, either, fucking men “for love” when all along I really just wanted them to fucking provide for me. Using people isn’t esteemable at all. And it’s no wonder why all of my intimate relationships have heretofore failed. Always needing something from someone else, “In time, all [her] protectors either flee or die, and [she] is once more left alone and afraid.” (43, Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions) 

But I can say now that God did for me what I couldn’t do for myself here. The more I rely on God, and do what I think He would have me, the less fear I have. With His help, I know I can provide for myself and my kids, and hey, when that happens, the higher my self-esteem will be.

I might even achieve my “full potential”.

I just hope to live long enough to see that through.

God’s will, not mine, be done.

Divorcing Self Pity

For a very brief moment, there was someone who was saying good morning and good night every single day. For a very brief moment, there was someone who cared about me “that way”. And why? Because he was hoping to have a place to put his dick. Someplace soft and warm and wet. 

A contract. But I breached. 

So “love” is the agreement, “Fuck me and I’ll let you feel cared for”? 

Whatever happened to, “I care for you, so when we see each other, I know our love will be there,” and we let things unfold, naturally?

Nope. There has to be a “sex agreement” in advance, apparently. 

I 

AM

SO

TIRED

OF

THIS

SHIT.

Four break-ups in one year. It’s the same shit - different year. Reminds me of 2012 through 2014, before my last suicidal depression. Yep...this is familiar, all right.

Damn these thoughts...

“And now there will be no one.”

“I’m not worth the risk unless the sex is that good? That often? Vagina videos and sexting every day?”

“And he was the last one who will ever want me, and I screwed it up. Just because I wouldn’t screw him soon enough.”

“It’s all over now.”

Seriously, Self Pity - we need a divorce, bitch.

I need to let go and let God. Then this too shall pass. I’ll become a mother-fucking (yep - self-fucking) super-hero single-mom who is both woman and man, nurturer and provider all-in-one. Two jobs. A vibrator, and Star Trek: Discovery, where the black female Commander Michael Burnham rocks a pixie ‘do, kicks ass, and takes a man’s name. I can get off to that.

As long as I can survive this fucking self pity (sign the papers!), I think I’ll be all right.

Break-up number five. Let’s go.