Some of you may have noticed that this site had been protected-my way of not deleting the bloody thing.
Yes Melissa, I am depressed. That lurking, whispering depression that I hate, the little one that fills my lungs, convinces me that no one loves me, that the littlest forgetfulness or slight is a sign that I should pack my bags and head for the hills. That it’s pointless to try and love because I won’t get what I need.
The fact that I’m a festering sore of need that has a thirst that seemingly can’t be quenched hasn’t escaped my notice. I ache with a need I can’t name, or even describe. It’s no one else’s fault, I don’t think. It’s mine for not being able to ever ask for what I need and want. Sometimes it seems easier to be unhappy.
Add to this some “woman troubles” that scare me with possibilities like “cysts”, “cancer”, “etopic pregnancy” and I’m not exactly thinking straight. At least if I died though, of cancer, the mortgage would be paid AND the girls would have my insurance. Silver lining in there somewhere.
I ask my body for it to be nothing, just some stress feeding off my body, a loneliness manifested in a constant purging. I hope. If I prayed, I’d be praying for the ultrasound to find nothing, for the blood tests to be normal. (Which they likely will be, but I always jump right to CATASTROPHE!!!!)
So fighting the minor depression, the “need some extra attention, and maybe a cupcake” is difficult, and nearly resulted in me deleting everything. I’ve become a whining font of need-and no one should have to listen to that for very long.
To brighten your mood, some random stupidity.
And regardless of what someone who cannot be named thinks, THIS is not funny.
Send some love. I needs some.