(no subject)
if you were to look at my life and say, 'wow, a lot has changed', i would then look at you as if you had just told me you were going to marry a penguin and raise babies in Guam. 'wow, a lot as changed' is what I would refer to as, the godfather of all understatements. i'm not going to sit here and type all the ways in which my life has changed because, frankly, i don't really feel like typing that much today. i just need to say some stuff, get it off my chest and out of my head, without anything flying back at me before i can finish a sentence. and seeing as anyone who wants to reply will have to actually read this before they can, it seems like the best way to do that. not that there'll be a reply, much less the plural, but you catch my drift.
certain facets of my life have a tendancy to suck beyond the telling of it. i hate my job. it's stupid, it's pointless, it's doldrum, it's monotonous, it's boring, it's every other synonym that means the same as those other words, it doesn't pay enough, it's stacking stupid cans of stupid food on shelves for 10 hours, it's never being appreciated, it's always beeing treated like shit by the people that are going to be eating the horrible food you just put on the shelf later that night with their perfect little families in their perfect little homes completely forgetting about the people they made to feel inferior because all we do with our lives is supply them with the can of green beans now spread before them in a casserole dish, and i hate it. i'm not a fan of my boss for reasons known and not. i'm not a fan of the company or the majority of the people that fill it everyday. every once in a while, somone makes me feel good about myself because an end cap that i built is full and lined up perfectly, or because and end cap that is virtually devoid of any product now looks full because i manipulated the shit enough, simply a side effect of my OCD, but it still feels good to hear someone say it. then, sometimes someone bitches about how it took hours to put easter candy on a gond, when the only reason it took so long is because, aside from my OCD, i have a very particular boss (that i'm still not a fan of) that has to have things certain ways and i didn't have enough product to do it the way he likes. so instead of doing a completely shit job, i put it on the shelf, take it off, and start over. several times. simply because, while i pretty much loathe his very existence, he is still my boss and i don't want him to say or think that i suck. which he, and everyone else, apparently does so it was futile in the end anyway. and you know what? i do suck. a big one. i'm not fast enough because my OCD disallows it, i still don't know where everything is, i haven't worked for the fucker long enough to know just exactly how he likes stuff done and, when he talks on the phone, he talks so bloody fast, only someone who can translate fuck-speak can know the first time around just what it is he's saying. then you add to that the fact that, when he's standing in front of you, you don't wanna get close enough to him to be able to hear what he's saying because his breath smells like the inside of an elephant's ass. so yeah, i suck. what of it? well, the what of it is- it fucking pisses me off!
enough about that fucking place and that fucking job. that's the least of my problems, i assure you.
i'm fucked up. i know it. i get reminded of it often. but i don't know what to do about it.
i went to the dr. and told the capt. of the geek brigade that i needed something, anything, to help me with this shit. so he gave it to me. thought it was working. apparently not.
i'm having nightmares. horrible, unspeakable nightmares. i wake jerrad up kicking and screaming and cussing. 'cept, i don't think their nightmares so much. they feel like something more. memories. memories i didn't think i'd ever get back, and truth be told, never wanted to. i've always been told by my mom, friends, doctors - everyone - that i was repressing. i had things buried. well, don't you think if there was something bad enough to bury that maybe i don't wanna dig it up? cuz if the past few weeks' nightmares are evidence at all, i can assure you, there'll be no digging for this homegirl. not never. if i'm this crazy without knowing everything, and if it all hurts this much without knowing everything, how fucking psycho am i gonna be if i haul out that back-ho and start trowling? most psychotic women in history for 500 please alex.
i'm scared to death i'm becoming like him. i mean, no, i'm not cheating, cuz - god - there's nobody but jerrad, never will be anybody but him. he carries my heart around in a little box tucked inside his back pocket, so that'll never happen. and, no, i'm not an alcoholic. seriously, after last year? like i could honestly drink all the time when all alcohol does is fuck everything up. and i have no delusions of grandeur or superiority. but the rest of the stuff. the craziness. the up and down and back and forth and every other which way. i'm like the wonkavator sometimes. plus, there's the jerking. we used to make fun of him for it. called it 'doing the randle'. sure, everyone has muscle spasms every now and again. but i have for real, lasting hours sometimes, god please make it stop so i can sleep or sit still, jerks. maybe it's karma. i hear she's a bitch.
everythings just so loud inside my head. and no, by that i don't mean i have several boisterous voices shouting at me inside my noggin'. i'm loud in my head. actual people and things they've actually said are loud in my head. my solace used to be writing. when it all got so loud that i couldn't hear anything in the real world anymore, i wrote. i wrote for days, until there was nothing left, no words left inside to come out, until all i could do was stare at a piece of paper or computer screen for two hours before i finally realized i was done. that was my way of dealing, of shutting it, them, and me - everything- all up. but i haven't even been able to do that. for months, i haven't written. no, that's a bit of a fib. i've written a few things since last summer, but nothing like i used to. so everything has just piled up inside my head, and it's not very big, there ain't much room there. not that my brain is all that big mind you, i just have a tiny head, prolly a tiny brain too, which is why not much fits. whatever. i can't do it anymore. the one relief i had is gone now too. so right now, it sounds like the trading room at wall street inside my poor tiny head. prolly where my headaches have been coming from too.
and now i've gotten too crazy for jerrad. trust me, he is not without his own version of craziness and he won't be casting any stones (or shouldn't be, glass houses and all), but my craziness is too much. and i don't know what to do to make it stop. he says things when he's angry and they work their busy little legs, scurrying all the way to the top of the ever growing pile of shit inside my head, until one day, the top is gonna blow off and i'm gonna look like one of those political cartoons in TIME magazine; a river of words flowing out of my brain for all the world to see. and don't take this as me blaming him, cuz i'm not. i had my own stuff before. but you take my stuff, add in his stuff, and you've got double stuff inside one little space where not too much more'll fit. i'm like a double stuffed oreo about to explode white creme everywhere. (and if you have a dirty mind and took that to a dirty place, you need help too buddy)
it just seemed like everything was coming together, ya know? slowly but surely, it was. i had a job i was good at, people respected me, looked up to me. i was in love, for real in love, for the first time ever and the prospect of true happiness was on the horizon. but then badness ensued and it all went down the shitter. he wasn't ready to love or be loved, so i drank of the demon alcohol and fucked up. then he was ready but it was bad. then it would get better, get bad, better, bad, etc., etc. then the job went away and i got shoved into another i didn't want, and couldn't do because no one ever really showed be how to, or supported me when i was there, and yeah, i majorly sucked at that one too. all the while, we're still doing the better/bad thing at home. then the sucky job went away too because of a fuckmook that held a grudge cuz i didn't accept his advances (in fact, i reported his less than stellar behaviour). so i got put into another sucky job working for someone i've never really liked, simply tolerated for the benefit of my husband (which is where you'll find me now). all the while, jerrad and i seemed to be having more of the better and less of the bad. it was and is still there, but not like before. but all the bad just kept and keeps adding up. double stuffed. and now it just feels like everything is bad again. and i want to fight it so hard, but i don't seem to be strong enough. not by myself anyway. and that's how i feel a lot of the time. utterly alone with all these loud thoughts and painful feelings. and hearing the man you love talk about leaving, you leaving, telling you to leave, saying it'll end badly, that it'll never work, the we should seperate, that he wants a divorce - well, lets just say that those things don't make me feel cuddled in the embrace of togetherness.
i love my husband with everything i have, and some stuff i don't. but i don't know what to do to keep us together. hell, i don't know what to do to keep me together.
certain facets of my life have a tendancy to suck beyond the telling of it. i hate my job. it's stupid, it's pointless, it's doldrum, it's monotonous, it's boring, it's every other synonym that means the same as those other words, it doesn't pay enough, it's stacking stupid cans of stupid food on shelves for 10 hours, it's never being appreciated, it's always beeing treated like shit by the people that are going to be eating the horrible food you just put on the shelf later that night with their perfect little families in their perfect little homes completely forgetting about the people they made to feel inferior because all we do with our lives is supply them with the can of green beans now spread before them in a casserole dish, and i hate it. i'm not a fan of my boss for reasons known and not. i'm not a fan of the company or the majority of the people that fill it everyday. every once in a while, somone makes me feel good about myself because an end cap that i built is full and lined up perfectly, or because and end cap that is virtually devoid of any product now looks full because i manipulated the shit enough, simply a side effect of my OCD, but it still feels good to hear someone say it. then, sometimes someone bitches about how it took hours to put easter candy on a gond, when the only reason it took so long is because, aside from my OCD, i have a very particular boss (that i'm still not a fan of) that has to have things certain ways and i didn't have enough product to do it the way he likes. so instead of doing a completely shit job, i put it on the shelf, take it off, and start over. several times. simply because, while i pretty much loathe his very existence, he is still my boss and i don't want him to say or think that i suck. which he, and everyone else, apparently does so it was futile in the end anyway. and you know what? i do suck. a big one. i'm not fast enough because my OCD disallows it, i still don't know where everything is, i haven't worked for the fucker long enough to know just exactly how he likes stuff done and, when he talks on the phone, he talks so bloody fast, only someone who can translate fuck-speak can know the first time around just what it is he's saying. then you add to that the fact that, when he's standing in front of you, you don't wanna get close enough to him to be able to hear what he's saying because his breath smells like the inside of an elephant's ass. so yeah, i suck. what of it? well, the what of it is- it fucking pisses me off!
enough about that fucking place and that fucking job. that's the least of my problems, i assure you.
i'm fucked up. i know it. i get reminded of it often. but i don't know what to do about it.
i went to the dr. and told the capt. of the geek brigade that i needed something, anything, to help me with this shit. so he gave it to me. thought it was working. apparently not.
i'm having nightmares. horrible, unspeakable nightmares. i wake jerrad up kicking and screaming and cussing. 'cept, i don't think their nightmares so much. they feel like something more. memories. memories i didn't think i'd ever get back, and truth be told, never wanted to. i've always been told by my mom, friends, doctors - everyone - that i was repressing. i had things buried. well, don't you think if there was something bad enough to bury that maybe i don't wanna dig it up? cuz if the past few weeks' nightmares are evidence at all, i can assure you, there'll be no digging for this homegirl. not never. if i'm this crazy without knowing everything, and if it all hurts this much without knowing everything, how fucking psycho am i gonna be if i haul out that back-ho and start trowling? most psychotic women in history for 500 please alex.
i'm scared to death i'm becoming like him. i mean, no, i'm not cheating, cuz - god - there's nobody but jerrad, never will be anybody but him. he carries my heart around in a little box tucked inside his back pocket, so that'll never happen. and, no, i'm not an alcoholic. seriously, after last year? like i could honestly drink all the time when all alcohol does is fuck everything up. and i have no delusions of grandeur or superiority. but the rest of the stuff. the craziness. the up and down and back and forth and every other which way. i'm like the wonkavator sometimes. plus, there's the jerking. we used to make fun of him for it. called it 'doing the randle'. sure, everyone has muscle spasms every now and again. but i have for real, lasting hours sometimes, god please make it stop so i can sleep or sit still, jerks. maybe it's karma. i hear she's a bitch.
everythings just so loud inside my head. and no, by that i don't mean i have several boisterous voices shouting at me inside my noggin'. i'm loud in my head. actual people and things they've actually said are loud in my head. my solace used to be writing. when it all got so loud that i couldn't hear anything in the real world anymore, i wrote. i wrote for days, until there was nothing left, no words left inside to come out, until all i could do was stare at a piece of paper or computer screen for two hours before i finally realized i was done. that was my way of dealing, of shutting it, them, and me - everything- all up. but i haven't even been able to do that. for months, i haven't written. no, that's a bit of a fib. i've written a few things since last summer, but nothing like i used to. so everything has just piled up inside my head, and it's not very big, there ain't much room there. not that my brain is all that big mind you, i just have a tiny head, prolly a tiny brain too, which is why not much fits. whatever. i can't do it anymore. the one relief i had is gone now too. so right now, it sounds like the trading room at wall street inside my poor tiny head. prolly where my headaches have been coming from too.
and now i've gotten too crazy for jerrad. trust me, he is not without his own version of craziness and he won't be casting any stones (or shouldn't be, glass houses and all), but my craziness is too much. and i don't know what to do to make it stop. he says things when he's angry and they work their busy little legs, scurrying all the way to the top of the ever growing pile of shit inside my head, until one day, the top is gonna blow off and i'm gonna look like one of those political cartoons in TIME magazine; a river of words flowing out of my brain for all the world to see. and don't take this as me blaming him, cuz i'm not. i had my own stuff before. but you take my stuff, add in his stuff, and you've got double stuff inside one little space where not too much more'll fit. i'm like a double stuffed oreo about to explode white creme everywhere. (and if you have a dirty mind and took that to a dirty place, you need help too buddy)
it just seemed like everything was coming together, ya know? slowly but surely, it was. i had a job i was good at, people respected me, looked up to me. i was in love, for real in love, for the first time ever and the prospect of true happiness was on the horizon. but then badness ensued and it all went down the shitter. he wasn't ready to love or be loved, so i drank of the demon alcohol and fucked up. then he was ready but it was bad. then it would get better, get bad, better, bad, etc., etc. then the job went away and i got shoved into another i didn't want, and couldn't do because no one ever really showed be how to, or supported me when i was there, and yeah, i majorly sucked at that one too. all the while, we're still doing the better/bad thing at home. then the sucky job went away too because of a fuckmook that held a grudge cuz i didn't accept his advances (in fact, i reported his less than stellar behaviour). so i got put into another sucky job working for someone i've never really liked, simply tolerated for the benefit of my husband (which is where you'll find me now). all the while, jerrad and i seemed to be having more of the better and less of the bad. it was and is still there, but not like before. but all the bad just kept and keeps adding up. double stuffed. and now it just feels like everything is bad again. and i want to fight it so hard, but i don't seem to be strong enough. not by myself anyway. and that's how i feel a lot of the time. utterly alone with all these loud thoughts and painful feelings. and hearing the man you love talk about leaving, you leaving, telling you to leave, saying it'll end badly, that it'll never work, the we should seperate, that he wants a divorce - well, lets just say that those things don't make me feel cuddled in the embrace of togetherness.
i love my husband with everything i have, and some stuff i don't. but i don't know what to do to keep us together. hell, i don't know what to do to keep me together.