I’m Just Ganna Say It…FML.

Poor poor me.  Poor fucking me.  I’m going to allow myself to have a pity party for just a minute because that’s just the day I’m having and I want to vent.  In an hour I’ll probably be laughing a gleeful and happy to be alive…that’s the bi-polar in me.  Right now, I want to set myself on fire.

Remember that lady in the news that had a very important job interview that could change her life?  She was homeless and had two kids and had “no choice” but to leave them in the car while she ran in for the interview?  And when she came out after an hour the police were waiting at her car to arrest her after they had to rescue the two babies from the car?  And then, after seeing her tearful police photo someone set up a “go fund me” account for her because everyone felt bad that she had no choice.  She got over 100.000 dollars?  Remember that story?  Well, I’m the mom who chose NOT to go on the interview because I refused to risk my childs life.  Where the fuck is MY “go fund me”?  And NOW, I not only take care of my daughter, but I am expected by the rest of the family to move to Washington to take care of my ailing dad who has dementia.  I have to break my lease leaving me with an eviction…in 30 years of renting I have never had an eviction.  I only have less than three months left on an apartment that is less than 1,000 per month.  Why doesn’t someone pay that for me so I can go be a caregiver?  I just made the moved to Vegas from Cali because I couldn’t afford Cali anymore, now I have to move again?  Where is the Calvary to help me pack?  Fuck this.

The stress of it all has given me hives…for 7 months.  Painful, itchy, bleeding hives.  They hurt so bad it feels like my body is covered by hundreds of red ants.  And ice packs are my only defense.  But it’s like flicking off one ant and then it gets back on and bites me somewhere else.  And believe me when I say it’s an EMERGENCY to either scratch my skin off or move the ice pack to the new location, or both.  My bed and clothing are bloody and I can barely do anything else but ice my body.  I look like a diseased freak.  It’s working on my mind in such a way, I have thought about lighting myself on fire.  Can scarred skin get hives?

So this, and that, and the thought of a life unknown.  And no one coming to the rescue.  Not a soul.  I think my family thinks, “Let’s put Christe with Jim, and then we don’t have to worry about either one ever again”.  I guess they have forgotten about the innocent child in all of this.  It’s her life too.  Is it fair to put her in a home that isn’t hers with a man that puts his keys in the refrigerator?  What is in store for us?  My stepmom says, “Save up while you are there, you may have to go rent a place so we can sell your dads house (my inheritance) to put him in a home”.  Really?  So, apply to be a tenant after everyone made me ditch my lease causing an eviction?  That’ll work.  Fuck that.

I’m supposed to be packing.  I can’t even get out of bed.  I know everyone is sick and tire of hearing about Paul dying and leaving us with nothing, but until someone else steps up and helps out, or my daughter reaches an age where she is financially independent, I will continue to bitch about it and not get over it.  So fuck you.

I know, this is life.  I get it.  But I’m allowed to get pissed and I’m allowed to say “why not me” when I see someone get 100,000 because they made a choice I refused to make.  And I’m allowed to ask God “When is it my turn?”.  I have enough money today for gas to get to my doctors appointment or buy a cheap bottle of wine.  I choose the wine.


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