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Mehr


Dear God and whomever is listening,

I am tired. I am worn. I am ready to leave this place.  I have my ups and downs of good and bad, but in this moment, I am at a low, low.

There are very few people I will talk to anymore, and out of those people, there are only a handful that I am not upset with.  I suppose the problem is me; but, aren’t I supposed to not care what people think?  I’m torn between letting everything out that I want to and being told that I am too sensitive.  Talking about something does not imply sensitivity.  There is a difference between caring enough about people to want to do things that they will appreciate and constantly worrying that they are thinking bad things about me.

I don’t even know if this post makes any sense, and to be frank, I don’t care.

I’m not going to give any context.  I just need to vent.  And the only thing that isn’t going to be a smart ass is my computer.  Hallelujah for a macbook that doesn’t know how to talk.

I’m not going to feign happiness and I’m not going to let people walk all over me; simultaneously, I almost want to become the apathy that I am running from, just so I don’t have to process anything anymore.

God, I need Your guidance and Yours alone. Please speak to me.

Amen

Irritation


I’m just going to make a list. If I don’t get this out right now I am going to blow a gasket.

1. I am moving for the fourth time in two months.

2. My boyfriend is mad because I discipline our dog differently.

3. I am tired.

4. I need money.

5. I have to have EVERYTHING out of my current house gone by tomorrow. I found out today.

6. The people that make me the most relaxed and comfortable are the people that I am most attracted to. I am dating someone.

Basically, I’m under a lot of stress and the stress is causing me to let my guard down. I hate that.  Hopefully by writing all of this down, I won’t allow that to happen.

Peace. Maybe.

After while, crocodile


Okay. Are you ready?

I work in a nursing home. As a social worker. And in the activities department, on occasion.

I love it, okay? I love old people.  I love the smell of “I wear way too strong perfume because my ‘ole smeller don’t work no mo'” and an ungodly amount of hairspray.  I like being considered funny, young, beautiful, and intelligent.  What they don’t know is that I am none of the above, since all of their senses are fading.  I also like introducing myself ten times a day to the same demented woman and having to show her to her room every time she forgets where she is.

Really, I do enjoy all of these things. 

Now, what do I not enjoy? Death. Attachment. Death.

You can’t have this population without the inevitable death.  You also cannot be good at your job without the connection between you and the residents in the nursing home.  Becoming attached is basically in the job description, despite the warning that everybody gives you about “not becoming attached! Don’t bring your work home with you!” Really, people?  Work with the same people for forty hours a week and not become attached?!  They see me more than they see their families, and you expect me not to become attached?!?! 

Sorry; you lose.

Anyway, I went to work last Thursday to find that one of my favorite residents had passed away the night before.  I gave him chocolate after playing a dice game with him.  GONE.

So, I “buck up” and get along in my day. 

By about mid-morning, I stood next to the bed of yet another resident who was declared dead right in front of me.  I stayed in the room while they undressed her, cleaned her, rubbed lotion on her, dressed her, brushed her hair, and got her ready to be seen by her family.

Now, my boyfriend told me after the fact that I should not have watched that happen, as I am not paid for such things.  Someone paid minimum wage is not to engage in such activities.

Maybe that’s true.  But I choose to believe otherwise.  I am better at my job because of these things.  Watching people prepare the dead for family is the last respect that they can give that woman.  Witnessing such events makes the seemingly pointless things that I do every day so much more important. 

Sure, waving at the lady watching tv may not be life-changing, but in a way, it does make the end of their life a tiny bit more bearable.  Because let’s be honest here, a nursing home life is not glamorous.  You lose much of your dignity, if not all of it, and on top of all of that, you are usually alone to deal with any and everything headed your way.

Anyway, by lunchtime I was asked to play my violin for someone’s grandmother that was currently passing.

How do you say no to that?  You don’t. I haven’t picked my violin up in a year and a half, and I just happened to bring it to the nursing home to practice some hymns?! Not a coincidence.  So, I played for about thirty minutes in this lady’s room with her family crying all around me.  Hymn, after hymn, after hymn, with an occasional “You Are My Sunshine,” since it was her favorite song.  Thank the Lord that I was blessed with the gift of playing by ear.  The woman was unresponsive except when I played my violin, in which she moved her leg ever so slightly.

Powerful stuff right there.

Two more people passed away over the weekend, and three are in the hospital.

Our count is at 13 lost right now, and I can honestly say that I am emotionally drained.  I know why people don’t last in this “business,” but I hope that I will leave my mark.

For those of you who think that what you do doesn’t matter, think again.

No title


I have taken a break from the blogging world, since my life has taken a significant turn for the worse.  Fortunately, things are looking a little brighter, so I thought that I might pick this up again.

Here is a list of future posts, not in any order in particular.

1.  After while, crocodile.

2. Fuzzy Monkey and why you shouldn’t drive after having one.

4. Hi, my name is ___, and I’m an alcoholic.

3. You don’t **** with my dog!

I know, creative, right??

Happy reading, friends.  It has been well over a month of chaos and learning.


Well, hi.

I hate how things are going.

I was mad at Christian and really felt justified in my irritation.  Things blew up, hence the previous post, and suddenly we’re on a “break,” initiated by HIM!

How the fuck does that work out? I am so confused.  Suddenly I feel like I was the one in the wrong, completely, and I need to be doing something to fix our relationship.  Why does it always come back to ME?

With this time apart, as little as it has been so far, I’ve been able to see things from Christian’s perspective, realizing things that I can do better, things I can work on, things to improve me as his girlfriend.  BUT I feel like he’s not doing ANYTHING to fix HIS side of things.  What if I emotionally invest in fixing this when he has no interest in doing it himself?

I mean, I’m already torn apart by the fact that we broke up.  Then we talked things out and thought that things were fixable.  So I was completely relieved… Then out of the blew he wanted a break, which I agreed might be a good thing so that the problems in our relationship weren’t swept under the rug.  But now I’m sitting here, alone, feeling as though I have been abandoned once again, but am still attached enough to not have the right to be… hurt.

I don’t know.  Everything in my life is in a constant turmoil.  As of tonight, I’m living out of my car.  I don’t have a place to live, and my back up plans have all fallen through.  My birthday is in four days.  My friends are gone, my boyfriend has taken space, and my family is in a different state. 

ALONE.

Alone.

…Alone.

I hate it. 

Forgive me my pity party of sorts, but I am so emotionally drained that if I don’t commit this misery to (paper) I will lose it more than I already have.

That awful, awful feeling of tears being riiiight about to fall, but feeling the pressure to maintain composure is a constant threat.


I am sitting at work, fighting back tears.  Why are relationships and breakups so entirely awful??

Answer: because you put yourself out there, all of you, and hope that it’s “the one.”  When it’s not, you pick up the pieces, hopefully, and invest that into the next “one.”  If you’re lucky, there’s enough of you left when the “one” finally makes an appearance.

I thought I had “the one” twice now.  The first time, I was graduating from high school and had grand plans to marry my sweetheart and move to Poland to have beautiful babies.  Missionaries, we would be, and God would bless the union.  Turns out I wasn’t met for blessings or Poland.

So then I slowly y y y

got back on my feet again and was determined to not make the same mistake.

So that’s when I met the second “one.”

As of today, I’ll be looking for the third “one.”

You know it’s bad when your heart actually hurts.  This man had all of me.  Emotionally and physically. 

My strengths are my weaknesses.  My empathy/sensitivity can be wonderful in the work that I want to do (counseling/therapy), but it can be so, so harmful when I interpret everything as directly affecting me.

Does love hold that against me?  This “one” did.  He does not cherish me, take pride in claiming me, protect me, wear me as his crown– but that’s what I want!  I deserve that!  We all do!

But when I ask for that, or encourage that, it’s my fault because I’m too “sensitive.”

Ouch.  Use my strength against me and make it my weakness.

Anyway, here we go.  I am in pieces and left to pick them up… alone.  Away from my home, my family, my friends, my livelihood.  I am completely and utterly alone.  God should be my refuge, but so far I haven’t found shelter in Him like I should.  I should have gone to Him long ago, but I’ve been caught in my own whirlwind of confusion, self-doubt, self-loathing, and hatred/bitterness.

It’s time to be freed.   I will not be held down any longer.

“Drop your chains, sons and daughters, come and run in liberty. Chain breaker, heart savior, Jesus the great redeemer..”

I don’t want to start over.  I’m tired.  I’m worn out.  I’m hurt.  I’m broken.  I’m alone. 

I raise my glass to everyone out there who has been hurt beyond comprehension.

Thank God for ice pops


Ah, Memorial Day weekend: how I despise your loneliness. Or rather, my loneliness.

I didn’t drink, didn’t go out on the lake, didn’t grill out with my friends; no, I instead watched an entire season of Alias and ate half a box of ice pops.

I know, this sounds awful.

But really, it’s okay.  It’s better than fast food (maybe..) and reminds me of my childhood.  Unfortunately, I was only allowed one or two when I was a kid, so I’ve been bingeing this weekend.  Like I said, I ate half of a box.

I hope that this weekend finds you with a bottle of aspirin for that hangover and a memory to go with it.  Don’t drink and drive, kids.  ;)

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