You definitely want to read this.

Sometimes, I just feel like throwing in the towel.  How many years have to go by, how many times do I get up after falling, only to receive another broken plate. 

I'm so fucking tired. 

I don't mean to sound ridiculous.  I mean, it is Easter and Jesus did die on the cross for my sins and rose from the grave only to find a world full of ungrateful, unbelieving sons a bitches.  I know that my problems are pale in comparison to others.  But right now I'm talking about me and if you don't like the pity party, then I suggest you find another blog to read. 

I'm having a rough day.  Jim and I are experiencing the hardest financial struggle that outweighs even our leanest of times.  And it's always been lean.  It's always been a struggle.  One would think that first job you land after 10 years of graduate school and post docs would be the break in the ice.  A little reward with a nice rainbow to go with it. 

Unfortunately, we have a shitty realtor selling our house that we dumped a shit ton of money into making a home.  We chose her because she was local to our town and it's been the biggest mistake ever.  If we could have one serious buyer that had enough money to give us the very minimum of what we need to move on we would bend. It's killed our savings and put us in a pretty decent sized hole of debt. 

I am still plugging away at Zumba and making NOTHING because I'm paying more than my fair share of rent.  I have no choice but to bend over because I have to start somewhere.  I started selling essetial oils for a MLM company trying to figure out one more way to pay the bills because I need more training, more knowledge to be taken seriously in the fitness industry.  I also love essential oils and use them daily for lots of different things from stress relief to allergy med alternatives.  I have found my passion in life but I feel like I'm climbing a wall that just keeps getting higher and higher. 

I spent the last 14 years supporting Jim in his career choices and now I feel guilty because we are struggling so bad, but I want my piece of cake, too.  I want to be home for the kids and work for myself because I feel like if I'm my own boss I can at least be in charge of appreciating my damn self since no one else seems to get it.  I've sold myself short for so many years waiting for others to value the person I am only to be found wanting. 

Shitty friends, unappreciative co-workers, ungrateful family and seldom hear from anyone but strangers or acquaintances that I really made a difference in their day.  Not all, don't take offense, but I only have a few really good ones who haven't at some point or other let me down so bad trust was broken. 

I serve people and it gives me great pleasure to make another smile.  I just want someone to make me smile, too. 

How many selfish people does it take to change a light bulb?  None, they're gonna wait for me to do it, because it's what I always do. 

I am blessed with three amazing kids.  I have a wonderful husband who has a good base for a career and he doesn't beat me or isn't an alcoholic and is a good father.  I am grateful for these things.  But honestly, I follow him around constantly looking for some sign that he's in love with me enough to show signs of affection.  I need to be hugged and kissed and want strong connections.  I don't need money, I need love and lots of it.  I can't help that I want these things.  I try to accept who he is and I realize he shows love in his own way but it's not easy to lack something I've been waiting my whole life to receive.  Thank goodness for my young girls.  They do love me and show me a lot of love and I soak it up in the brief moments it occurs, when I'm not keeping them from stabbing each other in the eye ball with a fork. 

Raising three daughters is a daunting, exhausting, and exhilarating task.  I love doing it, but guess who'll get the credit when it's all said and done.  The front man.  Dr. Hagarman, what a rock for his family, providing and loving them into confident and courageous women. Guess all the laundry, endless hours of brushing hair and wiping asses, hugging when duty calls, making the tough choices to keep them empathic and grounded women means nothing.  This shit ain't easy. 

In the side lines there's me, the servant.  Did you know she doesn't even work, what a lazy bitch.  She must be on Facebook all day or something.  A newly diagnosed bipolar and self proclaimed empath who has struggled for years taking on everyone's problems to the point of two hospitalizations in one year. 

That's what this has come to for me and I'm so very tired of grabbing the short straw.  It just seems to get worse no matter how much effort I put in. 

How bad is it that I felt happier in the hospital than out?  I made a difference in there.  I brushed an elderly woman's hair and made her feel pretty even though her kids won't even speak to her.  I showed a former heroine addict that she still had what it takes to jog around the court and could do whatever she decided to do.  I gave a lonely 21 year old boy a few days of feeling special by getting attention from his new inpatient cougar "girlfriend".  We set boundaries since I was married, but he never stopped smiling for the whole 5 days and promised me he'd take a shower the day I left.  I hugged a young girl who suffered severe anxiety and let her think she gave me new coping skills by sharing her love for coloring and hugging her stuffed animals.  I danced in the hall with a homeless woman and she laughed so hard and told me how cute I was, just cute cute cute she said.  She then told everyone to go to hell and fuck off but that's beside the point.

I helped those people feel more human and loved with everything I had for that one week.  I shared and listened.  I submersed myself in bipolar, schizophrenia,  PTSD, and homelessness.  I left my family to my amazing husband and he did a great job and I felt appreciated for just a few days.  It was great.  Turns out the broken plates are the best ones to be around.  It's all these pretend perfect plates that get on my fucking nerves. 

And now I'm out and I can't use any of my favorite coping skills aside from exercise.  No wine, no weed, no praying (psychosis makes me want to save the world from hell).  And we are in the middle of a shit storm and at each others throats at the very mention of money. 

I really hope this passes soon and I hope that stupid fucking realtor sells our house.  I'm so sick of people not doing their job and I'm sick of dinks.