Category Archives: dumb self pity

The Fight


An update to my “letter” post.

It goes like this for me, maybe it is the same for you:  I get so down, I feel as though I will never get up again. Then, the next day — I want to fight.

But first, I have to whine about it, moan about, write about.  I talk to whomever will listen.  And if they don’t want to hear it?  Doesn’t matter.  I will spill it, I will send that email, I will write that post, I will SAY how bad it hurts — because I have to get it out.  I am willing to shame myself if it means I’ll be free of the pain. I embarrass myself, show my failure, this never-ending battle of a marriage that on the surface — should have gone well.  It would be so much easier to see “the truth” had he been a cheat or a scoundrel.  If he’d been a lousy father or a drug addict.  He is not those things.  He is a good guy.  A good, handsome, sweetheart.  But it occurs to me that good guy or not — he’s destroying me.

So tonight — my options:  Quit my life or fight for my life. Lay down and die or get up and fight.  It’s no longer about my “marriage.”  The battle I face is not about marriage.  I don’t even know what marriage is anymore.  I’ve raised our kids by myself for so long now — what does it matter?  As long as I don’t say the word “divorce” everyone seems quite satisfied with the illusion.  So — I won’t say the word.

But the fight is within me.  The fight is something larger than a relationship.  Sure — the chips are down and stacked against me.  But the chips are against everyone.  Everyone.  Excuses are worthless.

My biggest threat?  Is giving in to sentiment.  I must be stronger than my sympathy, my self-pity, and worse — my guilt.

Years ago, I had a boyfriend — loved him, deeply — with all my heart.  But I knew he was all wrong for me, the drugs, the band, his ex-wife, his three children, his lack of direction, lack of interest in God, complete self-interest, but in the end it was the skirt chasing… that got me.  He was unfaithful.  That was the thing I couldn’t overcome.  That, and he had a vasectomy.  I wanted to have children.

One very bad day — I woke up.  From what I remember there were several bad days in a row, months of those bad days.  (I am slow when it comes to exiting “love.”)  But on the day I knew it was over, I thought my decision would end me.  I loved him.  I didn’t want to leave.

The choice had finally become clear then, too.  Who did I love more? Him or me?  If I stayed, it would kill me.  I would have nothing I wanted for my life.

But if I left, I would lose the man I loved. All I would gain would be the hope of becoming new, someday.

I left. It was horrible. Not a good end.  He has never spoken to me again.  Friendship — out of the question.  From what I’ve heard about him since, he married well.  He lives his life the same as he did when I was with him.  He plays music, has a boat and smokes a lot of pot. Good for him.  His wife makes the money.  His wife didn’t want children.  I did the man a favor.

In retrospect it was the right decision.  The wrong part of the decision was that I quickly entered into a new relationship.  Too soon.  I gave up on my dream of being an actress and replaced my love gone bad with new love, too soon.  That decision has brought me to where I am now.  I gave up on myself and devoted myself to another.


I should have sucked it up and endured the pain of loneliness.  I should have gone through it instead of trying to mask it, patch it — with new “love” and new false promises.  I should have given my dreams, my visions for myself a chance — but I was weak.

Tonight I ask myself which was worse?  The false promises said to me? Or the promises I made to myself and that I never fully pursued?  It is the second option that has brought me to my knees. I am to blame.  Now that I am down here — the lessons I needed to learn 20 years ago are still here.  Those lessons are much harder now.  I have mouths to feed, to clothe, to educate.  I have 5 beautiful people I need to teach, instill that honesty, gumption, hard work will go far.  I must teach them to be fearless, but wise, that they can be and choose anything they want  — but only if they put their whole 100% effort toward those goals.  I want them to know and somehow must teach that love does exist.  That love and happiness are attainable, but…

Never sell your soul.  Never give it away.  Their soul belongs to each of them and then to God – no one else.

So. Fight.  That’s what I am telling myself.  Fight.  Work.  Fight.  Reclaim my spirit and fight fearlessly.

and of course, I will pray.



md-snowglobe1Middle of the Night. I had thoughts that told me to keep fighting. ( I am only fighting myself.  There is no other fight.)

This morning, I have a headache and wait for my coffee to finish brewing. Need it now…

The TV is on and a Congressional hearing discusses the debacle of the “Affordable Care Act.”  No doubt the hearing will result in bluster and posturing, but solutions? Ha — only if one side can blame and ruin the other side.

I have a three-hour block of time before I have to leave my lair.   After those three hours, all the other stuff will resume,  But at this moment I remind myself that everyone has to fight.  And I cannot allow myself to give in to my doubts. I cannot allow despair to enter.  The circumstances don’t matter.

If I twist my life around as if I were looking at it through a snow globe, it looks pretty good.  It’s a good life. Exciting?  No.  Lonely?  Sometimes — whose isn’t?  But I’m still here.  I’m still going for what I’ve always wanted.  I haven’t quit — despite appearances.  Sometimes I wish I could.  It’s at those times I become sad.  Today I cannot allow it.

If I could pick a driving emotion today I would pick anger over sadness.  Sadness signals that I’m weakened.  Anger means I won’t go down without a fight.  Is there an option that is neither of those that will propel me forward?

Joy?  Thinking…

But not for too long. I’ve got some things to finish and need to put my thoughts there instead.

What Can I Say? #1

1045036_388824927896458_1821886275_nI am forcing myself to sit here again.  I’ve intended on writing for months and weeks but —  just haven’t been able to sit down and do it.  There is always something more important that needs to be done.  (To clarify, something more important to other people in my life).   Now that I am here,  I can’t think of anything to write.  Two days ago I had an idea — poof — gone.

I often think of things I’d like to write about while in the middle of other things — searching for my purse, my wallet, or my favorite tube of lip gloss.  Sometimes while driving my kids to soccer or football practice, or while vacuuming, while folding clothes, or cleaning out the kitty litter —  an opening sentence will come to mind, a memory, or an opinion will surface.  I’ll think something like, “Yes, I should write about that time I thought I was a witch and could fly or maybe I should write about Oliver…” (Oliver was my childhood  Golden Retriever that I had for all of 5 months — hit and killed by a car at 11 months.)

I’ve been taking online writing classes — but I’m behind.  I’m not in love with the classes, but I’ve paid for them.  I must complete the class or admit yet another half-assed attempt to become a real writer.  I’m not in love with the scenes I’ve written.  I’m not in love with the concept.   What I’ve written so far is based on various exercises and techniques, but none have resulted in my becoming excited for my character, her goal or the story. They are just exercises.  About as exciting as a treadmill.  It doesn’t feel like writing. It doesn’t feel like I am creating anything.

Creating.  Creation.  My husband and I created five babies.  That’s creating.  Passion ignites creation.  My writing needs something to get me moving again. I need writing Viagra.  But for a girl.  Then I (my character) could ride motorcycles and fix engines and save the world from mass destruction.

I’ve got two barely there novels shoved I don’t know where in my book shelf. I wrote them as an exercise for NANOWRIMO and like everything else, I have done nothing with them.  Schlock.  A few years back, while in the middle of the contest, a friend of mine  — a friend who is no longer a friend — but the real writer of what was once our friendship, perused the few pages I was stupid enough to post on Nano’s website.  With silence, she made it very clear that what I wrote was crap.  And it was.  Banal, mournful, crap. Those pages are on the shelf, too.

I have three unfinished scripts that are nothing but close-but-no-cigar, hot messes of frustration.  Two of them were finished, but I’m stuck in the rewrite.  It’s like I don’t feel worthy or capable of bringing them to a level that meets the concept. ( I like my concepts). I’m scared that I don’t have it in me.  The third — is strictly concept, a mish-mash pile of scenes, all created from technique-based prompts. I have a couple other scripts, too.  They are on the shelf.  I entered them in contests. A few of them placed, but there they are, collecting dust on the shelf.

And I am here. Today.  Ten minutes before I have to pick up my youngest from school.  I am writing here knowing full well it is a meaningless, pointless post. It is for no one.  I am not posting this as a status update or a Tweet.  I have no desire for anyone to read this ever.  I just need to write something, dammit, before I go out of my mind with the realization that my whole life sucks and there is no friggin’ way that I can ever do a rewrite.  Ever.

Pouting?  Yes, I am.

On top of it, I feel a cold coming on.  Sore throat.  The one bright side, since I’ve been unemployed FOR FECKING EVER, I have not been officially labeled “Non-essential” due to the government shut down.

As I type here — I am listening to a podcast, Writing Excuses Episode 17: This Sucks and I’m a Horrible Writer. It’s about how to overcome the fear of being talentless.

The final points from the podcast:

Keep writing.

Keep your hands on the keyboard, finish something.


Though home for only a few short days, I have to say, though I really do not want to acknowledge it — I miss him.

I am glad he is here.

I am already sad that he leaves in less than 36 hours.

Nothing to do but get over it.  Keep going.