Take A Walk With Jan #14

Hello, friends! I am one frustrated mama right now! I try not to judge others too much on how they raise their kids (let’s be real, we all judge people at least a little bit when it comes to certain things), but this woman at the park today got UNDER MY SKIN, y’all. Specifically, how she chose NOT to parent her child. I just gave my own toddler a bath, put him to sleep, and grabbed another cup of coffee, so, let me just start from the beginning.

After weeks and weeks of rain, where we’ve barely been able to go outside, let alone play at the park, we were finally able to take a loooong walk and get some good playtime in today. It was 83 degrees, partly sunny, and breezy. Absolutely beautiful. We stocked up on water, slathered on some sunscreen, and headed out.

I was sweating profusely by the time we got to the park, which is less than a quarter mile from our apartment, and had already gone through nearly half my water. Despite putting on my SPF 15 moisturizer, and a little bit of Liam’s SPF 50 sunscreen before we left the house, I could feel the skin on my face and shoulders getting a bit tight.

That got worse later, but onto what REALLY got me burned up.

When we got to the playground, there was only one family there. Well, I assumed they were a family. A young woman, a guy, a little boy a bit younger than Liam, and a baby girl, maybe 10 months old. The two adults were sitting on a bench nearby with the baby, while the little boy ran around the park like a tiny hurricane, as little boys do. As soon as I parked our stroller, the very red, very sweaty, little boy ran up to us, and went straight for Liam’s fruit snacks, which were sitting in his tray. I gently blocked the boy’s hand, and told him that they were not his. I looked up at his mother, but she hadn’t noticed, so I just brushed it off, and the little boy wandered away.

Liam ran around the playground, climbing the stairs, scaling the rock wall, and sliding endlessly down the three slides, all the while, the little boy trailed behind us, following us from place to place. The mom didn’t acknowledge it, and I didn’t care too much, as he wasn’t really bothering us. That is, until I noticed his little face. Aside from being completely sunburned and sweaty, this kid was also covered in snot. Snot all over his nose, his cheeks, and in his mouth. He also had goopy, yellow/green crust all around his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was nasty allergies, or nasty conjunctivitis, but I didn’t really want him touching us either way.

Is that mean? I don’t care. It was gross.

We walked over to the swing, the little boy trailing behind us, and I began to push my tot. The little boy plopped himself down onto the playground pebbles, right at my feet, and began burying my feet in tiny stones. I moved to the side, but he kept doing it, and I kept kicking the rocks off. He then began alternating between piling rocks on my shoes, throwing rocks at my legs, and stomping on my foot. Twice, I asked him nicely to stop, both times loud enough for the mother to hear, and she didn’t even look up. The third time, I was more stern, and she definitely heard me, but she didn’t even acknowledge the situation.

Not once.

Now, I’m not one to raise my voice at another person’s child, especially a toddler, but the whole situation was frustrating. I can handle a small child pestering me, but several stray rocks had hit Liam, and you just don’t mess with my baby, man. He also kept running in around the swing, almost getting knocked over a handful of times, and I feared for his safety, so we left the swing, and moved over to the roundabout. The little boy followed, of course, but instead of climbing on with Liam, he began chucking more little rocks onto the roundabout. Once again, loud enough for his mother to hear, I told him that throwing rocks was not nice, and that he needed to stop.

Once again, he didn’t, and she ignored me.

Quite frustrated, I picked up Liam, and carried him back to the stroller so that we could both drink some water.

The boy followed.

Liam lifted his cup to his mouth, and the little boy immediately reached for it. I gently blocked his hand, and sternly said, “No.

I looked up at the mother, who was deep in conversation with the man she was with, and still not watching her son, who had now pushed past my hand, and had fully grabbed onto Liam’s cup. Once more, a little louder, I said, “No!
The mother had now looked up, and sat there, watching. She said nothing to her little boy. So, I yanked the cup back from him, and picked up Liam so that he could drink in peace without the little boy pawing at him.

Looking back at the situation, the poor kid was probably thirsty, but it is not my job to make sure he is hydrated. I could see that he had a sippy cup of his own by his mother, but she hadn’t offered it to him once since we got there.

Speaking of the mother, she had finally taken notice of her son’s behavior, and shouted shrilly for him to get away from our stroller. He didn’t listen, and that was that. Nothing else. She just shouted, and gave up, going back to her conversation with this man, who I had now discovered was her ex-boyfriend’s brother, whom she apparently wanted to have a 3rd child with.

Yeah, they were talking loudly enough for me to hear all about their dirty laundry. It was, well, dirty.

I carried Liam away from the boy, and back to the slides. He took a few turns on the slides, then went to dig in the dirt.

Guess who followed.


I stood nearby and watched as they played in the dirt and wood chips, when suddenly, the little boy ran up to me, and slapped me on the thigh. I scolded him loudly, a mere three feet from his mother, and all she did was glance up at us. I was now pissed off. I told Liam that we had to go soon, and asked if he wanted to go on the slide one more time. He went up to the top, and the little boy ran off. I watched Liam slide down the slide, and as I walked over to him, I saw the little boy charging toward me out of the corner of my eye.

Then, out of nowhere, he hit me with a fucking stick. Right across my knee. He may have only been a year and a half, but it hurt, man! Not okay!

Once again I scolded him. Loudly. And nothing. NOTHING from his mother.

I was done. Fed up. I was hot and sweaty, this toddler was being a total brat, and his mother was doing NOTHING to police his behavior. I picked up Liam and put him in the stroller, and the boy tried to steal his cup again. I yanked it out of his hands, and heard his mother shout, “HEY!” I don’t know who she was yelling at, me or her son, but I shot her the dirtiest look I could muster.

And she glared right back.

I was done being nice. I was done parenting her tiny, demon spawn for her so she could try to hook up with her ex’s brother, or whatever the hell was happening with these people. So, as I unlocked the tires and began to leave, I said loudly, “Sorry, buddy, we have to go now. Some people can’t control their kids.

Yeah. I said it. And I don’t regret it at all. I wish I had said more!

She kept staring me down as we walked away, and my two year old, in all his beautiful innocence, waved and said, “Bye bye!” to the little boy. Oh, and just in case you were wondering, yes, the little boy did follow us, and made it all the way to the road before his mom yelled for him to come back.

And then we were gone.

I called Kyle on the phone to rant about everything I just typed out, and before I knew it, I was at Dollar General looking for snacks and coloring books. It was uneventful, until it was time to checkout.

Try to wrap your head around this, if you will. Just try.

My total came to $8.35. I handed the cashier $3.75 in cash from Liam’s piggy bank to pay for his coloring books, and told her the rest would go on my card. She stared at the money in her hand, and asked me how much it was. I told her it was $3.75, and I saw the wheels start to turn. You see, Dollar General registers are the worst. There is no way to separate payment types, you just enter the amount left to pay. It’s really not that hard, but it tripped me up a few times back when I worked there, even with a calculator.

I swiped my card when she told me to, waited for it to say it was approved, and then… the cashier handed me a quarter back.

Wait… What?

The following conversation ensued.

Me: Um, wait, why are you giving me change back?
Cashier: Well, it was 8.35, you gave me 3.75.
Me: … Yes?
Cashier: So here’s the change.
Me: But… I shouldn’t be getting change back. I gave you cash to pay for some of it, and put the rest on my card… why are you giving me change?
Cashier: … Oh, well, yeah, I accidentally charged your card 5.00.
Me: Oh. Okay, so you owe me 40 cents then.
Cashier: Wait, what? *looks at receipt* No, see, it was 8.35, you gave me 3.75, and I gave you a quarter back.
Me: … Yes. And now you owe me 15 more cents.
Cashier: *keeps staring at the receipt* I don’t think so.
Me: No, you definitely owe me 15 more cents…
Cashier: Um, okay, if you say so.
Me: ……………………….

The elderly woman standing behind me could not stop laughing.

I was not amused.

Then, Liam and I shared a strawberry crumble ice cream bar, and headed home. I also passed by a group of teenagers who were having an intense debate over whether or not Yoshi pooped out eggs, or spit them out, in the old Mario games. That made me laugh. However, by the time we got home, I was DRENCHED in sweat, pink all over, irritated with everyone on the planet, and beyond thirsty.

I guess that’s it. I’m done. I’m over it now, and I hope that I never see that woman or her bratty kid ever again, but seeing as how I live in a small town, where I see a lot of the same faces, I probably will.

At least Liam had a good time out in the sunshine.


Thanks for reading, friends. Sorry about the length!



Today, I want to tell you all a story. A story about lies, bullying, drugs, and abuse. This story is about the time that I realized that I deserved better than the situations that I was put in. This story takes place back in the early 2000s, when I was roughly 11 years old, give or take.

I guess I’ll start from the beginning. Let me preface this by saying that I in NO way blame my mother for anything that transpired in this story. She was only trying to make things work with what we had, and the minute she was made aware, she removed me from the situation. I love my mom, and she has always loved me, and has always done right by me. This one is a long one, folks.

WARNING: Some people may find certain subject matter triggering.

Here we go…

Growing up, my mother could not afford a babysitter or daycare for me. When I was much younger, I would spend my afternoons at an afterschool program run by volunteers, playing basketball in the gymnasium, or doing arts and crafts. However, when I was 10/11 years old, and right on the cusp of finally being old enough (in her eyes) to stay home alone after school while she was at work, the program ended. Because of this, I bounced around between a few of her friends and family members after school, none of which really wanted anything to do with babysitting me. For a while, I would walk to my mom’s boyfriend’s mother’s house, who lived just a few blocks from the school, and she would watch me and her grandson together. Unfortunately, she didn’t really like me much, and said the two of us were too much for her, and I could not longer stay there.

The last “babysitter” that I ever had was one of my mother’s oldest friends. We’ll call her Carol*. Carol had a son my age, and we had grown up together. She lived near the school, and it seemed like a perfect fit. Her son and I would walk home together after school, then sit around and watch TV, or do our homework, until my mom came to get me. All the while being under the watchful eye of one of my mom’s closest friends, for a fraction of the cost that a center or actual babysitter/nanny cost.

Only, that’s not how it happened. Unbeknownst to me (or my mother at the time), Carol had no intention of watching me, or her son. She had other things going on in her life that were more important to her than us. At first, it was fun, because I was too young to know better. We would get to Carol’s, and she would stick around just long enough to let us into the apartment and make small talk about our day at school, and then she would either leave the apartment for several hours, or lock herself in her room for several hours. Doing what, I had no idea at the time. Most days, her son and I would entertain ourselves by watching TV. We were big fans of WWE wrestling, and spent hours cheering and jeering at the TV. Other days, we did silly things, like use Carol’s old camcorder to record fake news shows, or music videos.

One day, Carol came home earlier than usual, and found her son and I making a stupid music video in the living room. We had switched clothes (not in the same room), and were lip syncing to songs performed by the opposite sex. Her son had even stuffed two baseballs into the bra he was wearing. We were 11. We were just having fun. She disagreed. I was in the middle of my Backstreet Boys performance, when I looked up to see her standing in the doorway, furious. She started screaming, and slapping her son repeatedly, calling him a pervert, a faggot, etc. I stood there, horrified, as she threw him into his room, slammed the door, and then shut herself in her own room. I sat on the couch, alone, for the remainder of my time there. When my mom came to get me, I ran outside, afraid that Carol would get me in trouble if she came in to get me. I didn’t tell her anything.

Things seemed to go back to normal after that, and we never talked about what happened. We also never swapped clothes, or made music videos, again. One day, Carol told us that she had a doctor’s appointment, and asked her son to pee in a cup for her. He argued with her, saying he didn’t have to go, and he didn’t want to do it for her again, so she made me do it. Being only 11 years old, and pretty naive, I thought nothing of it, though I was confused as to why I needed to pee in a cup for HER, when she was the one going to the doctor. But, I did it. And in the coming months, I did it again and again. I didn’t tell my mom that either.

One day, I learned that Carol had gotten a boyfriend. He would come over sometimes, or they would leave together, and Carol would give her son a list of chores to do, because she had apparently started caring about the condition of her apartment. As soon as they would leave, however, his list would become mine. You see, the boy I had once called my friend had changed. He never wanted to play or do silly things with me. He didn’t want to talk to me while watching TV, or play with his WWE action figures with me, or even go outside. When he wasn’t ignoring me, he was being mean. Sometimes, out of nowhere, he would call me a mean name, or tell me I was ugly or fat, or wish that I didn’t have to be there. I didn’t understand it, and it sucked.

Carol had asked her son to do the dishes one day as she was leaving the apartment. The sink was overflowing with dishes, and he decided that he didn’t want to do them. No sooner had the door closed behind her, he grabbed me by the arm, and told me that I had to do them, or he was going to tell on me. I didn’t know what he was going to tell on me for, but I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I started doing them. Only, I had never done the dishes before. This, mixed with me having a bad attitude over him bossing me around, caused me to unscrew the top of the dish soap, and empty the contents completely into the sink. I then filled one side of the sink with bubbles. I made a huge mess, and never actually did the dishes.

When Carol came home and saw the mess, she took it out on him. I won’t go into details, but it was bad. And I saw it all. He tried to tell her that it was my fault, but she didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t speak up. I didn’t want to get in trouble, and honestly, part of me blamed him at the time. If he hadn’t made me do it, and hadn’t been so mean to me, he wouldn’t be getting in trouble, right?

The guilt still sometimes gets to me.

And it only got worse. After several months of staying with Carol after school, I had wised up enough to realize that she wasn’t having me pee in these cups for normal doctor’s appointments. More than once, I had overheard, or seen, something that made it perfectly clear what was actually going on. The people coming and going, her disappearing out of the apartment for hours, or locking herself in her room all night. She did drugs. I later found out that she actually did a lot of them. Her boyfriend had moved in, and was usually stoned, or drunk, or both. He wasn’t a good guy. To any of us. But Carol would put on a smile and sing nothing but praise whenever my mom voiced her concerns.

One night, my mom and I were staying over later than usual. It was dark out, and we had all eaten dinner together. I was sitting on the computer in the living room with Carol’s son, playing Sim Coaster, when I saw Carol’s boyfriend out of the corner of my eye. He was coming out of the bedroom, and he was completely naked. My heart raced, and I kept my eyes on the monitor. From behind me, I heard the sound of what was later revealed to be him peeing on the couch, followed by Carol screaming at him at the top of her lungs. She started shoving and hitting him, still screaming. It all happened so fast, and my mom pulled me out of the apartment before the cops showed up.

That night, she asked me some questions. Questions about Carol’s boyfriend, and about drugs, etc. She asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell her. She told me that she still could not afford to have anyone else watch me, but that she would take time off work, or change her hours, or take out a loan, until we could figure out somewhere else for me to go. I just smiled and told her everything was fine.

But it wasn’t.

Carol and her boyfriend broke up. I kept going back to Carol’s, but the hostility and abuse seemed to increase weekly. Carol only laid her hands on me a few times, never doing enough to leave marks, but the emotional and verbal abuse that both myself and her son faced from her was terrifying. And confusing. I later learned that, because she was always high, Carol’s mind saw and processed things differently. Every situation, every little argument, she would blow up into pure insanity. I still don’t understand it to this day.

However, while she didn’t often put her hands on me, her son did. I’m old enough now to know that, while it was wrong for him to hurt me the ways that he did, he was hurting, too. He was hurting more than me. To escape everything, I would retreat into a book, or go for a walk, anything to get away from the situation. Sometimes, it helped. I even befriended this weird guy who lived on the top floor of her building. He was in his late teens, maybe early twenties, and sometimes would let me come in and watch TV with him. Yeah, no red flags went off at the time, and maybe it was innocent, but thinking back on it now, it was… odd.

But I kept quiet the whole time. I kept quiet for over a year. I dealt with the bullying, the name-calling, the hitting, shoving, scratching, blaming, lying. I put up with it all. Because I didn’t want to get in trouble, and I didn’t want to make things harder for my mom. I let her think that my slipping grades, my weight loss, and sudden disinterest in everything were caused by just about anything else.

But, one night, she found one of my razor blades on the bathroom counter. And I couldn’t keep it quiet anymore.

The day had started out normal, as far as normal went in my world. I was sitting on the couch, reading a book, when Carol’s son came into the room, and told me that his mom called, and wanted us to pick up the laundry in the apartment, and bring it down to the laundry room. I don’t know why, but I ignored him. He walked toward me, repeating himself, and I continued to ignore him. He took the book from my hands and tossed it across the room. I stood up to leave, and he shoved me back onto the couch. There was a small, American flag on the coffee table, left over from a parade we had all recently gone to, and he started to hit me with it. The end was pointed, and he jabbed me in the stomach and thigh several times, while I tried to shove him off me. I was taller, but he outweighed me, and I couldn’t get him to budge.

Overcome with fear and anger, I reached for his face, and scratched him. Over and over. I grabbed and tore at the skin on his face until he screamed and got off of me. He went to his room and called his mom, shouting into the phone that I had hurt him. I couldn’t move. My heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest. He shut himself in his room until his mom got home, minutes later. She immediately tore into me, telling me she was going to kick my ass, and that I could have scratched his eyes out. Luckily, she didn’t touch me, and my mom came to get me shortly after. I guess she had called her.

She screamed at my mom, and threatened to call the police, all while my mom stared at me, sobbing on the couch. She didn’t look angry though. She looked sad.

We left, and we never went back.

In the car, she tried to ask me questions, but I couldn’t answer her. I was shaking and crying, and everything seemed to be hitting me all at once. So we went home.

That night, I cut myself. It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the last time. But it was the first time I was caught.

After my mom confronted me, I told her everything. Every. Single. Thing. I told her about how Carol would hit her son, and make us take her drug tests for her, since she was getting high every moment of every day. I told her that Carol was never really there, even on the days when she was there. I told her about all the horrible things her son put me through. I told her that he hit me, and that she did, too. I spilled the truth until I couldn’t force my voice out anymore. She cried with me, and apologized for ever making me go there.

To this day, I still think she had no reason to apologize.

Shortly after, my mom got me a counselor, who helped me overcome the eating disorder I had developed, and helped me gain control over who I was, and who I wanted to be. And things got better. I never went back to Carol’s, and I never saw her again. Neither did my mom. I don’t know what happened to them, but her son didn’t go to my school anymore after that year. I took the bus home after school, and was finally allowed to stay home by myself. Things worked out.

When I was 14, Carol and her son reared their ugly heads once more in my life, when they confronted my step father while he was out shopping. Carol told him matter-of-factly that her son had heard a rumor in his school that I was a whore. That I was giving blowjobs to random guys, and sleeping around. Neither of which was true. I was still a virgin, and had only recently gotten my first serious boyfriend. My step father knew better than to listen to anything they said, and told them off. However, he was still angry. He and I had never seen eye-to-eye, and he confronted me about it in the most awkward, awful way possible later that night. I denied their claims, but he still felt the need to go to my mom about it. Luckily, she knew me well enough to blow it off.

Years later, and these horrible people were still trying to ruin me, but I wouldn’t let them. I felt sorry for them. What a sad way to live.

I never heard from them again after that, and I never took shit from anyone after that. Dealing with those people helped me develop a thick skin, and helped me gain more confidence and control over my life, and what happens to me. In a way, I guess I can thank them for showing me the kind of person that I never want to become.

16 years later, and I am still staying true to that.

I guess the moral of the story is that you are able to take back control of your life. Don’t stay stuck in a bad situation, and don’t let those bad situations define who you are. Whether you think you are too young, or too weak, or too alone to do something. You’re not.

You deserve better.

Thanks for reading, friends. Sorry about the length!

In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Control.

*Names have been changed.


I have been having a hard time lately. With just about everything. Honestly, I don’t even know where to start. I know I haven’t been blogging much these days, mostly because I can’t. I just can’t bring myself to do it. And who would want to read any of it anyway? I have had no energy, no motivation, and when I’m not taking care of my toddler, I’m lying on the couch, over-thinking, or taking depression naps. What a life.

So, here we go.

I was recently given the startling news that my father, grandfather, all my grandfather’s siblings, and my great-grandmother all have/had a rare form of muscular dystrophy, called OPMD. It is genetic (obviously), and there is a 50% chance that I have it. There is also a 50% chance that my brother and two sisters have it as well. And if I have it, there’s a 50% chance my son does as well. The night my grandmother told me, completely out of the blue, an hour before bedtime, I was shaken up. Really shaken up. I spent the next several hours on Google, reading up on the condition, trying to wrap my head around what to expect if/when symptoms occur. I didn’t fall asleep until nearly 3:00 in the morning.

If you want to learn more about the condition, you can click here. I won’t go into details. I’ve calmed down since getting the news, after doing my own research (let’s just say, my grandmother is extremely dramatic, and she made it seem like I 100% had it, and was in for a life of misery, which is not the case). The term “muscular dystrophy” is terrifying, but as far as these types of conditions go, this one isn’t as severe as others. It mainly affects the eyes and facial muscles, but can cause weakness in other parts of the body. Normally, it OPMD doesn’t present symptoms until the 40s to 60s, if at all. My grandfather and father  only recently started displaying symptoms. There is no cure or treatment, but with modern science, who knows what will be possible if/when it presents itself in me.

Next up, relationship crap. As I’m sure some of you know, Kyle started a new job a few months back. He leaves for work very early, and is back before dinner. You’d think this would be great, but it isn’t. He’s always exhausted, and always on edge and cranky. He passes out early every night, and we barely talk anymore. When we do talk, it always seems to turn into an immature fight. I’ve been getting swallowed alive by my depression lately, and struggling to keep up with housework and our toddler, and whenever I ask him to help with anything, it turns into a fight. A fight, and then the silent treatment. He gets defensive about everything, and it is wearing me out. I don’t want to bad mouth him. I know he works hard when he is at work, but he puts in zero effort at home. I’m struggling. I need HELP. But he won’t help me. And I am tired. So, so tired.

On top of all of these things that I need to process and over-think about, my normally sweet, little boy, who turned two at the end of January, is fully immersed in his “terrible twos” phase, and on most days, he really wears me out. Emotionally and physically. Once again, it’s just me with him. Always. Just. Me. 24/7. The weather has been bleak and wet, and we have been trapped inside most days of the week, which takes its toll on both of us. He gets worked up, bounces off the walls, gets sassy and cranky… and I’m so freaking tired, you guys. Always tired.

I’ve been feeling like an absolute failure in every aspect of my life lately. My relationship, my family, my health, my hobbies. Myself. Everything. The only little glimmers of happiness that I have found have been when Liam chooses to share how much he has learned lately. I have been trying hard to teach him his numbers and letters, whenever he sits still for just a second, which seems to never happen. But then, sometimes, we’ll be driving in the car, or eating lunch, and he will just start counting to 10, or correctly naming the letters on TV or in his books, or babbling out actual, tiny sentences, and forming coherent thoughts. Those are the moments that make me feel alright. Make me feel like I’m not a total failure.

I recently got this message from someone in Kyle’s family. Someone I have never met, and who has very opposing views to my own. She is very opinionated, and apparently does not approve of stay-at-home moms. At first, I was a little irritated at the tone in her message, because she blatantly stated that she thinks women who stay home to be stay-at-home moms are not “okay”, but then, I realised that it was a compliment.


Nobody becomes a parent to get praise from strangers, or from family. And, honestly, I shouldn’t care about what other people think about my life, or my parenting. But, in the moment, I needed this. She doesn’t know anything about my struggles. About my relationship, or my depression, or how my toddler, who I absolutely adore, can drive me to tears with his craziness. She just sees a mother, who works hard to teach her baby boy the things he needs to know. High praise.

I have no one I can talk to about any of this crap. No one I can just sit down and bitch with. I’ve been dealing with shitty, fake friends lately, and I’ve decided to just stop trying to befriend people who will only hurt me in the end. I’m 27 years old now, I don’t need to deal with that high school bullshit. I don’t need “friends” who stalk my social media, take screen shots of things I say, and pass them around to all their friends, so they can tweet passive aggressively about me, and pass judgment on situations they know nothing about. If that sounded a bit specific, that’s because that’s exactly what I’ve been dealing with for the last several months, and I am done with it. So I removed these people from my life, and haven’t looked back.

That’s just my luck. It’s hard for me to make friends, and even harder for me to keep them. People just don’t like me. They always have a problem with my negativity, with my anxiety, with my depression, with my opinions, with how I parent. They just have a problem with me. So, I am alone. Always. Fucking. Alone. I don’t have friends. I don’t have anyone I can trust, or confide in. Even worse, are the ones who feel pity on me, so they reach out, and say that they are there for me, that they care, when they really don’t. They don’t care at all. They just think that they can send a few positive messages, fix all my problems, and feel great about themselves. That’s not how it works, folks. You can’t just lure me into a false sense of security, a false sense of friendship, and then decide that it’s not worth the effort. That I’m not worth the effort. That’s cruel. So fucking cruel. And all day long, all I see are stupid memes and pictures of shit best friends supposedly do, and people just tag each other in them, and talk about all the good times they have, and knowing that I will never have that hurts.

If it weren’t my only form of communication with people that weren’t literal toddlers (even if they act like them from time to time), I’d just delete my social media. It’s so pointless.

That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. That’s where I’m at in my life. Alone. Hurting. Struggling. Pathetic.

Thanks for reading.


Sorry for the Silence

Hello, friends. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had the chance to sit down and write a post (just over two months), and a lot has happened. Most of the things that have happened aren’t really worth mentioning, but there are a few things that I’d like to share with you.

15995039_10208147301339761_8093609280292525493_oFirstly, and most important in my eyes, yesterday was my son’s second birthday. He’s two. I have a two year old. Trying to wrap my head around the fact that I have been a mother for two years is just… insane. I was babysitting all day, so we really couldn’t celebrate, and my entire household has been battling the cold from hell for a few weeks, so we were all more than happy to lay low. We had a cookie cake, took some pictures, and enjoyed some family time at the end of the day. Liam had an actual party a little over a week ago, when we went up to visit Kyle’s grandmother, and the whole rest of his family, for the big, annual family Christmas party. We bought Liam a really nice, super delicious cake, and he got to open a massive pile of Christmas AND birthday presents. He’s gotten so many amazing gifts this season, I might have to start doing some more toy reviews. There’s plenty to report on!

Luckily, we got all of our holiday and birthday shopping done early this year, because as you all know, whenever things are going too well for us, something goes wrong. Now, I went off on Facebook and Twitter recently, ranting about the medical lab where Kyle had his blood tests done last year when he was starting his new job. He had to be screened for diabetes, which we then discovered he had. Well, what I may not have mentioned, is that the clinic ordered a number of other tests, which we did not ask for, and in the end, we were charged roughly $1,000 from the lab, and nearly $500 from the clinic. For BLOOD TESTS. Gotta love America…

So, since Kyle is unable to afford insurance through his employer (oh, he no longer works two jobs, just the one driving now), and doesn’t qualify for state aid, it all had to come out of pocket. His mom agreed to help us with the clinic bill, since she was supposed to put Kyle back on her insurance and forgot about it, but the rest was on us. We were making the minimum payments for a while, but since Kyle’s job pays pretty well, he decided to pay half of it all at once on the site. Well, he screwed up and accidentally hit “Pay In Full”, and over $800 was taken from our bank account… and we didn’t have that much in there.

We got slammed with an overdraft, and a fee to go with it. Of course, he didn’t tell me this was his mistake until after I went off online, blaming the company, but when we reached out to see if we could maybe get half of the money back, they wouldn’t work with us. Not even a little. Luckily, I got paid enough the next day to pull our account back from the negatives, but we’ve been riding on $32 in the bank for over a week. Thank goodness for Christmas cash and gas card gifts. Tomorrow, Kyle gets paid, and then I get a few dollars on Friday from babysitting, and we will be all set again. But it sure threw us for a loop.

And speaking of babysitting… that’s all over.

It’s been rough. I had to put my Twitter as protected, because I found out that someone has been stalking my tweets, taking screenshots, and sending them to people who don’t follow me there, which has caused me some drama. Ridiculous, high school drama. I have a good feeling I know who it might be… though I’d like to think it isn’t one of my friends who follows me. I don’t trust anyone anymore.

I feel empty. More alone than ever. I feel like there’s been too much to deal with, but I haven’t been letting myself deal with any of it, because there was always something that needed to be done. Something more important than me, and my feelings. I didn’t let myself feel, or deal, or vent. Blah.

I also recently became an aunt again, to a little girl whose name I don’t even know, and who I’ll probably never meet, we lost my grandmother’s husband, Richard, to cancer right before Christmas, and I gained 45 pounds in 2016.

Oh, and Trump. That happened. So we’re all stuck in this sinking boat of misery.

Thanks for reading, friends. I should have more time to do writing prompts, reviews, etc… I missed writing. Talk soon.