A Pig with lipstick

It’s just so unfair.

I realize that statement makes me sound like a petulant child, but it’s how I feel.  Life is unfair.  The world is unfair.  Most of life’s unfairness comes from our choices… but what about the things we don’t choose?

What about the people who have diabetes, cancer, a genetic disorder, or a mental illness.  We didn’t do a damn thing to cause this.  It’s just so unfair.

I try to dress my pig up in a pretty dress.  Paint it’s lips red.  Convince myself that this means I am just able to help others.  I’ll be able to show love and empathy to my children should they suffer.  I make a big deal out of my accomplishments… trying to encouragement myself with words like, “brave”, “honest”, “safe.”

But when the rubber meets the road; most days I can barely get out of bed.  The weight on my head feels like it’s suffocating me.  But.  I do it.  Every damn day.  I’m so tired.  So unbelievably exhausted.  All I want is for chad to love me again and come home.  He’s the first man I ever believed.  First man I ever trusted.  I was actually happy.  Helped.  My kids adored him and believed him too.  They talk about him all the time.  And now we are nothing.  Literally nothing.  He escaped my bipolar because it makes me trash.

But I can’t give up because my kids need me so I go back to being a pig dressed up with words like, “brave”.  Doing life.  Working full time.  Forcing myself to smile and forget all my pain.  I have moments I feel like I’m actually DOING IT… Then I have pieces of shit like Jason who love to make my life harder.  Kids who beg to not go to their home, going hungry, spanked 50 times, etc… but I am powerless.  I have a counselor for the kids who is amazing, but when it comes to confrontation about Jason’s horrible choices she goes silent so no one is telling him he’s wrong.  My own counselor listens and is proud of me, but I don’t feel any better.  I want to punch her when she says she’s proud of me.  Proud of what?!  That I’m alive when it’s fucking hard?  Okay.  I’ll give you that.  Proud of me that my house is clean?  I’ll give you that (mostly.)  Proud that my kids aren’t being beaten, making their own breakfast at 2 out of fear, or being beaten with a spoon until it breaks?  K.  I guess I can give you that too.  Or how about this.  Is she proud that neither of my kids are hiding underneath any bed they can find to protect themselves?  Guess I can give her that.  Or maybe that my kids aren’t being molested by male and female babysitters or ‘friends’?’ I guess I can give her that too.  Or maybe that my kids are told that they are loved, and hugged, every day of their life?!  I guess I can give her that too.  Cause that's not what happened to me.  I was rarely told I was loved.  Or touched.  in fact I was told I was a stupid bitch and my mouth would get me in trouble and I'd never be wanted.  Or maybe she’s proud because I put a face to all of this.  An ugly face, but an honest face. 

I’m tired you guys.  So exhausted.  My stress levels are so high that I’ve felt like I was having a heart attack twice last week.  It happened after Carol told lies that I killed my beloved healthy dog so her sister attacked me.  It happened when the school systems were failing so I had to fight for my son.  Jason and Nara certainly didn’t do that or thank me!  It happened when I missed paid work to handle ben’s school issue and to register all three kids.  It happened when I went to the fair and forgot an Ativan.  I was so terrified being on one of the rides that I put a smile on my face to make my kids happy, but tears ran down my face because I thought I might die.  I realized then that I am brave, but I have no peace.  Not one stroke of peace.

Where does my help come from?  It’s supposed to come from the Lord.

But I’m mad.  Really fucking mad.  How could He let me grow up in such horrendous abuse?  How could he make a little girl/woman who is unable to be loved when that’s all she’s ever craved?  How can he expect so much from one person?  Why do I have to suffer every single day?  Can’t I get a break?  I can’t even enjoy a Christian concert that I waited two months for.  Why would I want to seek a God who made me this way?

Again.  So fucking unfair.  I just want to sleep.  I want to rail.  I want answers.  I want help.  I want to be lovable.  I want chad to come home.  I want to do the right things. 

I just want a little bit of fun.  A little bit of joy.  A little bit of peace.  I want to see the big picture.

I want my life to be more than the sum part of my kids having it better than me.

They are worth it all, but can't my life have more purpose then that?