I had an uneventful weekend… which is both good and bad. Nothing especially bad happened… so that’s good. But nothing really happened at all… so that’s bad.
I feel like I should be doing more stuff with my kids over the weekends, but it’s really hard coming up with things to do that don’t cost anything… and that I’m not too messed up to do (like because of my stupid foot pain that acts up sometimes, for example). Maybe they’re getting too old to hang out with Mom anyway. I know my son is. And… maybe I’m lazy… but that’s probably my moodiness talking… and taking over at times… and I wish it would leave me the hell alone.
I’ve been wondering if I should limit my emotional disaster posts to this one… once a week. But I don’t know that I can make (or keep) that promise. When something happens and I need a friend (or 20), I write… and I post here. Because I have no real-life friends… I have no support. God, that’s even more pathetic in writing than it is in reality. Okay, maybe not more pathetic. But at least as pathetic.
I was about to say, ‘I wonder why I can’t make friends’, but I know why. I’m not around people enough because it freaks me out. (And because I’m unemployed.) But even if I was around people more (like when I was working… or anywhere else), I don’t know how to make small talk. I never know what to say. I end up silent or making jokes, often at my own expense, because that’s all I’ve got. And none of that is winning me any friends.
And really, where would I even go? People don’t talk to strangers at coffee shops or the library or any other places I might go. People are in their own worlds… doing their own thing. Most people already have friends… why would they want me? I’m mostly a nuisance with all my emotional-disaster-ness. (Which is also why I’m often afraid to email those of you who’ve said you’re there for me. I believe you and I appreciate you so much… but I don’t want to drive you away…)
One might think I have a good, if not best, friend in my husband or one of my sisters.
I am close to the two sisters who speak to me. (Someday, maybe I’ll post about the third.) But despite being close with those sisters, they really don’t get me. They don’t understand the anxiety and depression I live with. They think ‘snap out of it’… ‘cheer up’… ‘think positively’… or other such things. Don’t people know that if I could do those things, I obviously would? Those things are exactly what I’m incapable of doing (along with ‘love yourself’). Fuck… I wish I could just do those things!
And my husband. Well, he’s useless with this stuff. I know I say some shit about him. And it’s all true. But he’s not a bad guy. He’s not mean or anything like that. He’s just not… there for me, I guess. He used to be. Maybe he got sick of me. But it’s not like I ever hid who I was. I’ve always been a disaster… from the moment we met. He loved me anyway. But now… I really can’t talk to him when I’m in crisis… when I need someone. If I try, I usually come out of it feeling worse. Mostly because he says pretty much nothing… and it doesn’t even feel like he’s listening. I might as well talk to a brick.
So. I don’t know where I was going with any of this. I guess this is what came out when I thought about my mood. And this week… I can actually describe my mood in one word…
Final assessment: lonely
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