what sandra thinks

I have a lot of anxiety over whether to post this or not post it. I never wanted this fucking topic to be so prevalent on this blog. But life gets in my face and my head gets so fogged up that there’s nothing else in there… and writing anything else continues to fail. I hope that reading this maybe somehow has value to someone… maybe helps someone feel something good… thus making me feel less pathetic for posting it. Or maybe there’s no value at all except for me getting it out (although, unfortunately, it never leaves me permanently…) and maybe having a little company in the comments… because lately, alone sucks monkey balls. 

junk drawer.

It has come to my attention that I don’t know what I want from life. Beyond the fantasies, I mean. Or maybe that’s precisely the problem… I see my wants as fantasies so I’ve deemed them unachievable.

I want to be truly in love… and truly loved. Wanted… maybe even needed. Is that unhealthy? I don’t know but to be that important to someone… I want that. ‘But you’re married,’ you might be thinking. And to that, I say… ‘yes I am.’

I want to give my kids an amazing life. I love them and I take care of them… and they don’t have a terrible life. They have everything they need and then some. But I know it could be better. So much better. I just can’t make that happen because…

I want to have enough money to have a better life. ‘Money can’t buy happiness’ is a lie. I can think of at least five things right now at this very moment that would bring happiness, but they’re impossible without enough money. I hate that so much of life and happiness is about money. You can tell me that it’s not but I won’t believe you no matter what you say. (I know… stubborn bitch…)

I want to kill the anxiety and overwhelming sadness that take over my mind too often. I cannot know for sure if they would lessen if I had any of the above, but I strongly believe that they would. I know there is no ‘cure’ for anxiety and depression. Treatment? Yes. Cure? No. But as the majority of my negative, self-destructive feelings are due to financial and loneliness issues, having the love and the means to make life better would make a huge difference.

I want that happiness. The happiness that comes from being able to do more for my children… from being in love… from escaping the worries that constantly plague me. I really want that.

Yet I feel that these things are unattainable. They are fantasy. They are pipe dreams. Someone (or more than one someone) is going to tell me that they’re not… but to me they are… and that’s enough to push them out of my reach. I know—so change my way of thinking. Oh, I wish it was that easy. I wish I could do that. I wish it all the time as I try all the time… yet here I am.

It feels like my life is the world’s largest junk drawer. Look inside and there’s so much chaos… so much shit to sort through… so much useless junk… that it’s hard to find anything good or useful. And to clean out that junk drawer… well, it’s such a chaotic mess that it’s overwhelming, and I just close the drawer. I know I need to start small but every step feels huge. It doesn’t seem as though there are any small steps.

And what’s my goal? Empty the drawer? If an empty drawer is what I’m after, then why not just dump the whole drawer into the trash? What would that symbolize in this metaphor? Emptiness? Or no need to have a junk drawer at all?

This metaphor is going downhill fast.

©2018 what sandra thinks