what sandra thinks

maybe you really like me.

Posted on 14 October 2021 by what sandra thinks

… or you really like that I’m miserable.

I will explain. (Sorry.)

You know how I always worry about posting my personal struggles because I’m overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment over it? You know how I worry that those posts are annoying or whiny? You know how I worry that people will think less of me or something ridiculous like that?

It turns out those are my most popular posts.

Okay, that’s probably a lie. But I noticed that of my recent posts (like, in the last month since I rose from the dead), the ones filled with angst, depression, anxiety, relationship issues, and other assorted personal struggles get the most likes and especially the most comments. So either you like me or you like that I’m miserable. I’m not gonna touch that second one.

I suppose this means that maybe I should stop worrying so much about what I should or shouldn’t post and just do whatever the fuck I want. Whatever I need. And lately (and often) what I need is to talk about my fucked up life.

It’s the no friends thing all over again. It would be nice to text a friend and meet for coffee or visit each other. Someone to talk to. Someone to laugh with. Someone to love and support me. Maybe give me a hug. I don’t get those except occasionally from my daughter (yes, I feel the irony).

Oh, speaking of my daughter (again), she has a not-boyfriend. What I mean is that she obviously likes this boy and he obviously likes her, but they are not together. That’s good, I guess, since they are only 13. But it’s fucking adorable. He’s the new kid—transferred from a nearby town the second week of school. A cute, tall hockey player who loves to read and likes the same music by daughter listens to (he is also going to see Shawn Mendes). They are kind of perfect for each other, if that’s a thing at their age. Get this: My daughter has a bad cold, and she missed two days of school this week. Both of those days, her boy called during lunch to check on her. How cute is that? So fucking cute.

She would be furious if she knew I was telling the internet about this.

Want to know something fucked up? Well, too bad. I’m going to tell you anyway.

I think I’m living vicariously through my daughter. And that seems kind of inappropriate to me. Oh hell, it seems all kinds of wrong. I’m not sure I can explain why, but it does. I’m very careful what I say to her because I don’t want to put my own ideas in her head. I want her to have her own teenage experience—not mine.

I just miss being a teenager, I guess. Lots of people say they hated those years, but I loved them. And the crushes—especially the ones who actually like you back? That’s the best. I loved school. All the fun we had in the halls between classes… after school clubs… passing notes… school dances… and, well, any kind of math. (Nerd alert.) School was awesome. Maybe I peaked in high school. God, that’s a depressing thought. But I did love that time in my life. Oh, I was depressed then, too, but I had friends and I was always busy with one thing or another. I guess my life felt… full. Now it feels empty.

I can’t relive that time in my life. I think it’s why I have this recurring dream where I’m at my high school and I’m standing at my locker and I can’t remember the combination. I keep trying but I can’t get it open. I realized, after having this dream dozens of times, that the locker represents my youth… and I can’t have it back. I’ve had a similar dream where I’m in my college dorm and I’m locked out of my room and I can’t find my key or an RA to open my door for me. I can’t get in. Just like the locker.

I have a serious problem with living in the past. Or wishing I could have the past back, I guess, is more accurate. I want a do-over. Yes, I enjoyed school and being a teenager, but it could have been so much better. That would have been the time for me to work on my self-esteem because it would have made the years that followed so much better. It would have made today better.

I want to go back to thirteen and do it right this time. I want to put some serious effort into learning to love myself as a teenager. I want to value myself, not feel valuable only if someone else values me. Because that is how I’ve lived pretty much my whole life. As far back as I can remember, I only felt good about myself if someone else felt good about me. I think it started very young. Like, under ten years old. Maybe it’s because I have three sisters (two older, one younger). Maybe I never felt noticed, and therefore, not valuable. As I got older, it became clear to me that I was the odd one out. The oldest, the baby, the favorite, and… me. What was I? What am I? I was the misfit. The black sheep. The fuck-up. To this day, I feel isolated from them. I fake it pretty well. But I know I don’t fit in.

I know you’re all thinking that I can work on my self-esteem and self-love now. But fuck if I can figure out how to do that. Nothing works. I can’t even get myself to try some of the suggestions. Others I try but they do nothing. Most seem pointless at this stage of my life. I’ve hated myself for a lot of years. It would take a lot of years to change that hate to love. I don’t think I have enough years left. It’s too late. Yes, it really is. Yes. It is. Too late. A necessary component is missing now that I had when I was a teenager: hope.

Well, this post has jumped all over the place. I should probably have split it into multiple posts. That would have worked out well for my goal of posting more. But all of this flowed out of me together. I think I should leave it that way.

So… to sum up:

My depression/anxiety/crisis posts seem quite popular.
I shouldn’t worry that I’m going to drive you away by posting about those things.
I have no friends.
My daughter has a boy friend but not a boyfriend. And they are fucking cute.
I am creepily living vicariously through my daughter.
I loved high school. I wish I could go back and enjoy it again, but better this time.
My psyche knows I can’t get my youth back, yet my mind fights itself on that.
I hate myself.
I am the black sheep of my family.
My mind is alarmingly capable of running through way too many thoughts at once.

Thank you for reading. You know, if you made it to the end.

·•·

Again, living in the past—I wish I had ended up with one of these guys. I need a fucking time machine. And possibly a plastic surgeon.

p.s. — Maybe I’m working on the larger book up there ^ at the top of this post. God knows I rambled on about enough here to drive the weak-willed away…

Posted in anxiety, depression, life, writing | Tagged anxiety, depression, family, life, mental health, parenting, whatsandrathinks, writing | 46 Comments

I did a thing.

Posted on 11 October 2021 by what sandra thinks

fame.

Remember this post about my daughter? Yeah, the one right before this one.

Well… I did something that maybe I shouldn’t have done, but it’s too late now. There’s no going back.

That bit about giving her what she wants because I feel like I need to buy her love? That’s a bad idea, right? Right. Yet I got her something she really wanted.

The thing is—full disclosure—I wanted it, too. It was most definitely also for me. Maybe it even was more for me.

And here is where I confess my secret, age-inappropriate pop star crush.

Yeah, that’s right. We’re going to see Shawn Mendes.

(Yes, I blocked out the specifics. I wouldn’t want anyone to stalk me. Paranoid, you ask? Yes, I am!)

Part of the reason I have a soft spot for this guy is his openness about mental health. He has not been afraid or ashamed to speak out about his own struggles with anxiety as well as mental health issues in general. It is something I relate to no matter how old (young) he is. Besides, if you actually believe that I’m 29, there’s nothing inappropriate going on here. (Let’s forget, for a moment, that I have a 16.75 year old son as that would make 29 a blatant lie.)

It’s been a while since I’ve last been to a show. Not because of the pandemic. I just haven’t been. When did concert tickets get so ridiculously pricy? The first few rows are, like, $500 per ticket or something crazy like that. So, obviously, I didn’t get the best available seats because it would have been over $1000 for the two of us. I may make a lot of bad decisions, but…

·•·

At least these guys are age-appropriate for me.

p.s. — I’ve been holding on to this secret crush for a while. Don’t worry. I didn’t have a crush until a couple of years ago—when he was fully a man, not a boy. See? There’s nothing wrong with me. Nope. Nothing at all.

Posted in life, music, writing | Tagged life, music, shawn mendes, whatsandrathinks, writing | 20 Comments

she fuckin’ hates me.

Posted on 5 October 2021 by what sandra thinks

My daughter hates me.

This has been the case for well over a year. Maybe two years. Maybe longer. I can’t even remember. (And the last year and a half kind of melted into one big lump of crap, so my concept of time is pretty fucked at the moment.)

I hate going into detail about this stuff because I feel that it reflects [very] poorly on me as a parent, and I’m embarrassed that I, apparently, am a horrible mother. Everything I touch turns into a huge pile of failure. Anyway, I’ll share some things, and hopefully, you won’t think badly of me when I’m finished.

My daughter (I will henceforth refer to her as M) constantly picks fights with me. I am so goddamn careful with every fucking word I say to her because I don’t want to fight with her, yet she still manages to find something to argue about. All. The. Fucking. Time. I can ask something as inocuous as, “did you finish your homework?” and my son will answer me, but M will fly off the handle and start a fight with me. One day she even said, and I quote, “I can’t help it if everything you say pisses me off.”

What the fuck?

I know that I’m a failure as a mother. That is clear. But my son doesn’t treat me this way, so it can’t be all me, can it? I don’t even know. Maybe it is. I’m sure I treat them differently, but shouldn’t I? They are not the same person.

I’m sick of the excuse that she’s a typical thirteen year old girl because this is not normal. Maybe my three sisters and I were angels (ha, like hell we were), but my mom says we *never* treated her the way M treats me. She talks back to me constantly. She doesn’t seem to grasp that I’m the parent and she’s the child.

She tells me that she has no respect for me because I have no respect for her. But her definition of me “not respecting her” is me being a parent. Unless I agree with everything she says and let her do whatever she wants and never tell her when she’s done something wrong, I’m not respecting her. Oh, and if I punish her (god forbid) then I’m not respecting her. And by “punish”, I really just mean “say no”.

What the fuck is a parent, then? Am I really and truly fucking everything up?

I can’t even tell you the number of nights I’ve cried myself to sleep over this. I am 100% positive tonight will be another one of those nights.

Last week, M told me that she feels like everyone in our family hates each other. She directed her comment at me initially, but later repeated it in front of my son and husband. However, she is actually the only one who fights with everyone. I can’t remember the last time my son and I had even so much as a disagreement. And my husband, well, I have no use for him (whole different topic), but I’m not mean and we rarely fight. We get along… we’re civil. (Yes, it’s a marriage made in heaven. Civil was always my dream.)

We had a family meeting last week about this “hating each other” thing. By the end, I thought there was more understanding and a willingness to try to be more respectful of each other. I thought it went well.

I must be a fucking idiot because within, like, a day, M was acting like she hated everyone. She was back to being rude and picking fights, and not just with me. She’s the one who complains about the situation, yet she is the one who creates that very situation. She never takes any blame, though. It’s never her. It’s always someone else. Usually me.

It’s always me. I don’t know when everything became my fault, but that seems to be the case as far as she’s concerned.

We used to be close. I actually said that to her the other day, and her response? “We were never close.” I don’t understand how she can say that. Did she just forget? Maybe she blocked it out because she hates me so much now.

Tonight she told me that we “don’t have a relationship“. What does that even mean? Of course we have a relationship—I’m her mother. She says we don’t have anything in common. Hmm. We both read, we both write, we both like going to the used book store, we both obsess over certain music (even if it’s not always the same music), we both bake, we both like boys, we both have boobs. Whatever. We have shit in common.

In trying to make things better, I say yes to so much of what M asks of me. Not anything crazy. Mostly things like taking her to Target when she needs (or more accurately, wants) something. Somewhere in my head, I think doing these things will make her like me. And that saying no will make her hate me more. It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t have to buy my daughter’s love by catering to her every wish. Tonight she said that me doing things like this for her doesn’t mean we have a relationship.

However, if I don’t agree to what she asks, she will go to my husband instead and get it anyway because he tries to avoid conflict by giving in. Then he gets “credit” for it and she loves him and hates me. Not that me doing things for her makes her love me anyway (see above… that “doesn’t mean we have a relationship”).

I don’t have a job other than Mom. I am here for my kids all the time. Whatever they need, I’m here to help. My husband works until at least 6pm Monday through Friday. Yet both of my kids treat him like some kind of celebrity. I spend all my time doing whatever I can for them, and my husband is the one they love… or at least very strongly prefer.

I honestly don’t care if they prefer him and think he’s the better parent. I do, however, care that M thinks I’m an awful person and that we don’t have a relationship. That really hurts me. I told her that, but she didn’t seem to care. She has even told me that there are things I do that bother her, but when other people do those same things, they don’t bother her. I have no fucking idea what to do with that.

How can I possibly improve this situation (not calling it a relationship since according to her, we don’t have one)? It’s like there’s a separate set of rules for me, but I have no idea what those rules are.

I know I make mistakes. I know I should be better at parenting by now since my kids are 16 and 13. But I feel completely out of my depth here. I don’t know what to try anymore because everything I do is wrong. It might be right for someone else, but it’s wrong for me.

I’ve tried to talk to my husband about the situation with M, but he is useless. He barely responds. I get that he doesn’t have the answers, but I also feel like he doesn’t care that much because most of her issues seem to be with me, not him. Yeah, he’s fucking selfish like that. Charming, right?

So… my daughter hates me.

And she’s not the only one.
(In case it wasn’t clear, I also hate me.)

·•·

This isn’t exactly a favorite song of mine, but I felt like I pretty much had to include it here.

·•·

I don’t even have a witty comment to go along with my guys right now, but I’m not going to post without them. Maybe I’ve lost my mind, but I think I need them. Yeah, mind is lost.

p.s. — I wonder when I’ll be getting my “World’s Worst Mom” trophy.

Posted in anxiety, depression, life, writing | Tagged anxiety, depression, family, life, parenting, whatsandrathinks, writing | 62 Comments

writing, rewriting, reading, rereading.

Posted on 5 October 2021 by what sandra thinks

My blog started six years ago as a creative outlet for my fiction writing. I wanted to share my writing anonymously so I would never have to face anyone who thought I was a shit writer. I started writing poetry, too, and I amazed even myself with how good some of my poems were. Again, sharing anonymously so if I’m the only one who thinks my poetry is good, at least I don’t have to face anyone who thinks I’m a talentless hack.

Then came writer’s block. That bitch showed up toward the end of 2017. Yes, four fucking years ago. Four. Fucking. Years. I wrote almost nothing until about a month ago. On August 31, I started writing what I thought would be a short story about a bunch of college kids. I had written a few notes well over a year ago, but I was never able to turn them into anything. In fact, I have a whole Word document filled with story ideas. The problem is that they’re really only ideas for scenes or characters. Nothing for a whole story.

What I’m working on now has potential, but I’m struggling a bit. I started off strong, but now, with only about 14,000 words written, I feel stuck. I have never made an outline for a story. I wonder if I should try that.

Apparently, Stephen King thinks that’s a terrible idea. He thinks it’s better to see where your characters take you rather than have everything planned in advance because that can be stifling. I see where he’s coming from, but since I seem to struggle to turn my ideas/scenes into full stories, I think it might be helpful for me. And I’m not a Stephen King fan anyway, so fuck him.

Still, it’s a problem because I’m not sure I will even have enough to create an outline. Like I said, most of my ideas tend to be for scenes, not whole stories. Or they’re just character ideas. All of this tells me that I’m really not a writer. I’m not sure what I am. Perhaps I am the talentless hack I mentioned before.

At least I’m enjoying what I’m writing at the moment. Or, I was until I got stuck. I think I’m going to rewrite all of what I have so far from the POV of the leading man instead of the girl (which is how it’s written now). I love the idea of writing his side of the story. I want to get inside his head.

In the end, none of this really matters because this story, like every other one I’ve ever written, is going nowhere. I’m not going to publish. I don’t even know if I’ll ever share anything else here. I guess I’m only writing for myself. I enjoy it (well, when it’s going well). I also enjoy reading (and rereading) what I’ve written, and I love editing. (Is that weird?)

So I’ll just take my files and pretend I’m in college with the hot guy who inspired me.

Who wouldn’t want to get inside his head? (I really wanted to add “or inside his pants” but I felt like that might be taking it too far. Not that that has ever stopped me before.)

·•·

And let us not forget my perpetual inspiration.

p.s. — Sometimes I wonder if my active fantasy life is hurting me. I’m never going to have a hot guy (or any guy) in my life who loves and wants me. It breaks my heart. I can lose myself in my imagination, but often, I cry for what I’ll never have.

Posted in life, writing | Tagged life, whatsandrathinks, writing | 32 Comments

realizations.

Posted on 1 October 2021 by what sandra thinks

I think too much. I guess sometimes that’s good… like when I’m trying to solve complex math equations. But it’s also bad… like when I’m not trying to solve complex math equations. I’m incapable of living in the moment which, if I could, I understand, would make me far less anxious… and maybe even happy(ish). What I can do, however, is take myself from calm to panic in less than sixty seconds. And I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’s too late. I guess that’s a realization in and of itself.

Recently, I’ve come to a few of other realizations. I think they might all be bad. But maybe that’s open to interpretation…?

·•·•·•·•·•·

I have a uniform. No, it’s not for my [non-existent] job. It’s my life uniform (yeah, I did just make that up). I wear it every day. Sure, there are some slight variations, but in the end, it’s pretty much the same: jeans or black yoga pants and a black tee/shirt/sweater/hoodie. Sometimes, I mix it up and wear grey or navy. But only if I’m feeling wild.
But I do wear fun socks. Sometimes. Right now, I’m wearing panda socks (see above).
[FYI the girl pictured is not me. If I am ever that skinny, please throw cheeseburgers at me. And maybe a cake. No offense skinny people. I’m just jealous. I have never, in my adult life, been a size 2.]

·•·•·•·•·•·

broken stone heart
I think the most annoying thing in my life is my husband.

·•·•·•·•·•·

The best thing about my kids being back in school is being able to make that edible oatmeal cookie dough I love so much (hold the chocolate chips—I’m a purist). [I won’t make it when anyone’s home because (a) I don’t want to share and (b) I feel like an out-of-control binge eater when I eat it.]

·•·•·•·•·•·

One hundred percent of my non-family in-person social interactions are with Dunkin’ employees.

·•·•·•·•·•·

I read nine books in September. Which seems pathetic considering I read sixteen in August. (Only one so far in October…)

·•·•·•·•·•·

I have an obsession (unhealthy? arguable.) with Mr. Sexy Beach Guy. Although he may have a replacement soon…

Holy fuck. [Thank you, VK and PW.]

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not replacing anyone. I’ll just keep both.

·•·•·•·•·•·

p.s. — Am I going to have to start ending every post with both guys? Damn. I mean, there’s no way I can choose. You can’t eat just one. So to speak.

Posted in anxiety, books, life | Tagged anxiety, books, life, whatsandrathinks | 9 Comments

jess(i)e’s girl.

Posted on 25 September 2021 by what sandra thinks

Here is my closet’s most recent acquisition. Isn’t it beautiful?

(Pssst… no, that is not a spelling error.)

It’s the sexiest shirt I own. And not because it’s slim-fitting and really brings out my boobs.

It’s because of Jesse.

I keep having to explain to people that Jesse is the love of my life in book form. He’s not, in fact, the guy about whose girl Rick Springfield sings. Not that there would be anything wrong with that. It’s a great song, and truth be told, Rick Springfield was the first concert I ever went to so I do have a soft spot for him and that song, especially. [Aside: That was a really fucking long run-on sentence but I can’t be bothered to edit.]

I really shouldn’t have to clarify—it’s not even spelled the same way! How could anyone possibly confuse the two?? One listens to Jessie’s Girl… one falls in love and wishes to be Jesse’s girl.

Big difference.

—

Dirty Like Me
by Jaine Diamond

It’s hot as fuck and Jesse is my fantasy come to life.

Not gonna lie… I’ve read it four times. Not gonna deny it… I have a problem.

But you already knew I had a problem (or fifty). Not the least of which is my obsession with Mr. Sexy Beach Guy.

p.s. — Two posts in the same week! Watch your back… the world may be ending.

Posted in books, life, reading, writing | Tagged books, life, reading, whatsandrathinks, writing | 6 Comments

I feel… tired anxious sad helpless… done.

Posted on 20 September 2021 by what sandra thinks

Did you ever notice that when you’re not doing well and it feels like the world is collapsing around you, something even worse happens and you just want to crawl into a hole and die?

No? Just me? Okay.

I’m so exhausted that I’ve lost the will to fight.

I feel utterly alone because everyone around me either has their own shit or is part of the problem.

Don’t worry—I’m not going to hurt myself. But I am having a hell of a time finding a reason to live. The people who supposedly ‘need‘ me? No. What I bring to the table is more bad than good. They’d be better off without me. I would be better off without me.

You’re probably thinking, ‘damn, this bitch needs help!‘ and you wouldn’t be wrong. But I have help. It’s just not… helping. Not enough, anyway. I’ve had help in many forms at many times in my life, but it never truly changes anything. I don’t even want to dignify this topic with any more of my time.

This isn’t even really about me. It’s almost entirely not about me.

My kids are having some issues and I feel utterly powerless and helpless. And I also feel responsible. Everyone tells me I’m not, but I don’t believe them. And instead of making things better for my kids, I fear I’m making them worse. (See above, ‘What I bring to the table is more bad than good. They’d be better off without me.’)

I have been debating this post for a few weeks. I didn’t want to admit/acknowledge what’s going on with my kids because that makes it even more real. In case you didn’t already realize, I can’t bring myself to go into detail. It breaks me. And fuck knows I’m already broken. One more crack and I’ll turn to dust.

I hate that this has become about me in any way. I shouldn’t be thinking of how I feel. I should only be thinking of them. It’s just hard when this all affects me so deeply that I can’t breathe.

Tell me again how I’m of use to anyone? Right. I’m not.

—

“You’ve been the only thing that’s right…” —SP, 2004

p.s. — It’s not lost on me that I haven’t been around, and when I do show up, it’s like this. I would feel guilty if I had the will to do so. But… this is my place… my space. Maybe this is how I need to use it.

p.p.s. — In the moments when I am not completely closed off trying to build myself a nest of denial, I wish I had someone to talk to. But like I said in not so many words, I have no one. And I feel like asking for someone is selfish as fuck.

p.p.p.s. — Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been four months since my last post. And even before that, I have never been to confession.

Posted in life, writing | Tagged anxiety, depression, life, whatsandrathinks, writing | 40 Comments

10 signs you may be failing at life.

Posted on 20 May 2021 by what sandra thinks

10 signs you may be failing at life.

1) You put the milk in your bowl before the cereal.

2) You don’t drink the milk after you’ve eaten the cereal.

3) You spread peanut butter then jelly on the same slice of bread, then put another slice of bread on top. [The fuck? PB goes on one slice, jelly on the other, and then they’re sandwiched together… aka: the right way.]

4) You don’t like peanut butter. [You are excused if you are allergic.]

5) You drink decaf.

6) You listen to country music on purpose and enjoy it. [Don’t even tell me if you do this. I’m not sure I’ll get past it.]

7) You have a blog with so fucking many ads and pop-ups that it’s not even worth visiting. [*cough* most food bloggers *cough* note: go to the link… I promise it’s funny.]

8) Your ass shows when you wear shorts.

9) You’re go-to response when someone is having a shit day is ‘it could be worse‘. FY-fucking-I, it could also be better. Say that instead. The first one translates to ‘I don’t give a shit about your problems‘, while the second one gives hope. Which one do you think is helpful? [Hint: Not the first one.]

10) You don’t think this man is the sexiest thing ever. [If you swing that way, of course. I personally fucking run that way. Like, to him.]

I love you, Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes, ass] Beach Guy.

Truly, it is okay if you commit any of the aforementioned atrocities [except the country music one]. I’ll try not to lose faith in humanity. Oh, wait, I don’t have any. Well shit.

p.s. — While I am not guilty of any of these particular sins, I’m still failing at life, so don’t feel bad if you saw yourself in any of them. I still love you. But the country music one… seriously, I don’t want to know.

p.p.s. — If you would like to know more about failing at life, just ask. I’m an expert.