That’s about it.
When I was in about 6th grade to 10th grade, my best friend, Tina, had a condition that meant she was lacking a couple layers of skin, the epidermis, I think. This meant we had to be super careful when we were playing, because if you touched her too hard, she’d get a nasty, angry, black-and-blue bruise or even start bleeding from just a small amount of pressure.
I think I have that condition, only it just affects my heart.
I hate it.
I hate my feelings. I hate my tears. I hate my sensitivity.
I hate it. I detest it. I abhor it.
Depression hurts. Bordeaux Cherry Chocolate Ice Cream With Chocolate Magic Shell on Top can help. Ask your doctor if Bordeaux Cherry Chocolate Ice Cream With Chocolate Magic Shell on Top could be right for you.
(Side effects may include: bigger stomach, bigger ass, those arm flab thingies that your gramma had, and the grande delusion that a couple endorphins brought on by a temporary sugar high can make up for a lifelong dopamine imbalance.)
I’m so tired.
Tired of trying so hard.
Tired of borrowing money.
Tired of disconnect notices.
Tired of dodging bill collectors.
Tired of not being able to give my kids a better life.
Tired of trying yet something else that may bring in some cash and it doesn’t.
Tired of feeling broken, both in body and spirit.
Tired of failing.
I’ve had stories told on me more than once in this space and SOME of those stories MIGHT have been out and out lies and fabrications. The text message I’m about to relate is just one in everyday conversations that go on between Dory and myself. I think it’s her fault.
Me: I love you!
Me: WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!?!
Me: Where? DID YOU LEAVE ME?!?!
Me: Well, obviously you must have decided to divorce me because you’re driving somewhere!! AND YOU HATE ME!!
Dory: Ok. Yes, I love you. No, I’m not leaving you. Yes, you need to lay off the meth. Think of the children. The CHILDREN!!!!
Me: You make me happy.
Dory: *whispers* the children, Tom
Me: You’re insane. Really one of your best qualities.
Dory: Scott gave me $10 so I could make it to the nursing home.
So you see, she tortures me with her threats to leave me. I know what you’re saying, “She never threatened to leave you, moron!” And I have two things to say to that. 1) I don’t appreciate you calling me names. Sticks and stones and all that. 2) Were you NOT paying attention?!?! She didn’t answer me AND she was driving somewhere. CLEARLY, she was contemplating finding a boyfriend and moving to Aruba and getting a tattoo on her butt! Of a local goatherder named Juan Carlos after doing shots off his perfectly sculpted chest and Abs.
I hate Juan Carlos.
I’ve had this video up on YouTube for a couple years; it affected me positively, so I put it up to affect others positively. At first, I left comments open, but I had to close them down because maintenance took too much time. Every day I was having to spam and delete several nasty comments. That slowed them down, but I still get nasty messages on my public profile and in my inbox.
This one was from just a couple weeks ago.
Yes, it’s just a sad, sad, small person with substandard genitalia, but it still makes me a sad, sad, …person… with… serviceable genitalia.
Then shortly after I discovered that little gem in the inbox, Tom pointed this comic from cyanide & happiness.
Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net
It’s disturbing, yet somewhat apropos.
Merry flippin’ Christmas.
I haven’t found a job/income yet; I’m depressed, but hangin’ onto the ledge.
By the skin of my teeth.