Bah fucking Humbug!

This isn't going to come as much of a shock to anyone reading this, but I am officially boycotting Christmas this year. No Christmas music, no Christmas decorations, no Christmas cookies...nothing. No one else in my family is even the slightest bit enthused about the holiday, and honestly, it's been pretty much nothing but a downer for me for the past few years, since my grandmother died, so what's the point? Why stress myself out to celebrate something I don't even really believe in anyway? I mean, sure, I'll have dinner with my family, if that's what we do. And if they decide to change their minds and actually want to get into the Christmas spirit, I will probably join in on the festivities. But I'm done trying to make this happen. Kinda like I'm done with everything else. Who cares anymore?

Once again...

Once again I am sitting here, thinking too much out of sheer boredom, and I can't help but ask myself: Why? Why am I so unsatisfied with my life? What did I expect things to turn out like? I mean, I've never been one to put much faith in making plans for the future because something always comes up to ruin everything. So why am I so surprised that I am still single, unmarried, childless, without a degree, working in a job with no real advancement opportunities, living at home with my parents...the list goes on and on. I think part of it is the fact that I'm just not happy with myself. I hate the way I look. I know I'm fat. I'm working on it. But it takes time, and I am not a patient person. Part of it is the fact that I feel like I wasted six years of my life, and for what? All I have to show for it is a heart that she turned to stone, a completely cynical outlook on love, and scars on my heart, body and soul. So what now? I don't want to fall in love again. I don't want to go back to school because it would be pointless. I don't want to find another job because I enjoy what I do and I love my coworkers. I don't want to move out of my parents' house because I hate the thought of living alone, and Mom needs me. So why? What is wrong with me? Why can I not be happy with the choices I am making? Am I just programmed to be miserable for the rest of my existence? If that's the case, then I want out. Now. Because this pain is becoming almost unbearable, even for me, and that's saying something.

Deep breaths...

The panic attacks are getting even more out of control. I'm not entirely sure what to do anymore. I woke up freaking out this morning for no reason at all. I don't even remember having a bad dream or anything. I took my anti-anxiety pill like I'm supposed to and it calmed me down a little, but it's starting to wear off now and I'm feeling extremely high strung. Maybe the holidays are stressing me out, I don't know. There's so much going on around me right now and sometimes I get so stressed and anxious that I just want to puke. I can't wait until Friday when I can go buy another bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka and probably a bottle of Kahlua too. Black and/or White Russians ftw. Maybe I'll get a couple of bottles of red wine too, why the fuck not?

The iPod is on shuffle, playing a list of Children of Bodom, Nightwish and Sonata Arctica in a completely random order. It's pretty awesome to not know what to expect next since I know all of these albums by heart. Keeps thing exciting.

Deep breaths...8 hours and I can go home, have a beer, and try to relax. Deep, slow breaths...

...I am losing my mind. Not that there was much left to lose...

Dreaming in sanguine technicolor

I know, I know. The subject doesn't make much sense, does it? But really, it does. My dreams have been so violent lately. Filled with imagine of death and destruction...and, if I didn't wake up in time, I am positive it would show my own demise. What I don't understand is why. I'm safe where I am right now. There is no one actively trying to hurt me, at least not physically. And yet...I can't shake it. This sense of foreboding is too much for me to handle right now. There is so much going on and I'm concerned that these dreams aren't so much a literal warning as some sick form of foreshadowing. But foreshadowing what? Is someone around me going to be violently attacked? Am I? Or am I finally going to slip over the edge and just...slit my wrists and be done? I mean, I realize I have a fascination with blood. The sight, the texture, the warmth...the taste. And it's no secret that I have been treated violently in the past. I have also tried to take my own life. But these dreams feel...different, somehow. And they're so vivid and feel so real that sometimes I wake up completely shocked that my sheets aren't covered in blood. I do wake up in pain. I can feel everything that happens. And I just. I don't know. It's freaking me out. It's freaking me out badly and I don't know how to stop it.

Oh...fuck...that hurts...

I can't breathe right now...I feel like I'm suffocating...I just got a text from my sister telling me that our friend Kim's baby girl was born today...on my daughter's birthday...oh God...it hurts so much...I'm so happy for her but...fuck...that...damn...my heart just shattered into a million pieces when I read that...she's a mother, and I'm not...her daughter is alive, and my little girl was taken away from me...her angel was born on the same day mine should have been...shit...shit shit shit...I don't know how to deal with this...it...just hurts...

Happy Birthday, my sweet angel...

Nine years ago, I should have given birth to an angel. I should have been able to hold her in my arms, count her little fingers and toes, look into her little face and welcome my daughter into this world. Today, I should be celebrating her ninth birthday, having a part either after she gets out of school or over the weekend. She should be inviting her friends over for cake and ice cream and games and, because she is my daughter, karaoke and a headbanging metal fest. Instead, I am struggling with every ounce of strength I have to hold back the tears, to stop myself from dropping to the ground and sobbing my heart out because I miss her so much. I never got to hold her, never got to look into her eyes, never got to hear her laugh or cry or tell me that she loves me. I never go to tell her how much I love her or watch her take her first steps or say her first word. All of those things were stolen away from me and my angel...and yet even though she was never truly with me, she is always a part of me.

Mommy loves you, Trinity Rose, and I will never, ever forget you. I will always love you with all of my heart and soul, and no matter what, you will always be my firstborn, even if you never had a chance to truly be born. I still think about you everyday and imagine what we would be doing if you had survived. I'd like to think that we would be best friends and do everything together, because let's face it kiddo, it would have been you and me against the world. I know you're out there somewhere watching over me and trying to make sure that Mommy is happy...I feel you with me every time my heart aches, every time I laugh or smile, with every tear I cry...I know that you're here. I love you. I miss you. We'll meet again one day, my sweet angel... Happy Birthday.

A thought...

If time supposedly "heals all wounds," then why, after all this time, does it hurt almost worse than it did then? Why haven't all of these years healed the wounds on my heart and soul? Is it because they can't be healed, only scabbed over, and when something comes along to trigger those emotions it's like picking off a scab and making the wound worse? Or do they actually scar and then get torn open again, simply making the wounds and scars deeper? I don't understand. I shouldn't be feeling this way after all this time if what they say is true and time really does ease the pain. Personally, I think that saying was created by people who were so terrified of their own pain, sorrow and hatred that they had to find a way to convince themselves that it would be eased and "healed" if they just ignored it long enough. Cowards, essentially. I have no fear of my own pain, hatred or sorrow. Some people would even say I thrive on it, and who am I to disagree? They're probably right. The darkness is where I find the most comfort, not only because it's familiar to me, but because it is the one place (or frame of mind, perhaps?) where I can simply be myself without being judged, where I can feel the pain and hatred and sorrow and no one tries to tell me I'm wrong. And I won't even bring "God" into it because anyone reading this knows my beliefs, or lack thereof well enough that I don't think I need to reiterate that point right now. It's all a load of bullshit.

 

"Can you ever kill the pain in my heart, even though they say angels don't kill?"