Times change the heart to blackened sac

My life has come to a point where darkness and light have blurred. 

Everything is grey. Colors are bleeding across the painting of my life.   

I have lived in one place for 28 years. It has had its joys and its sorrows. Many highs and lows. Many dreams have flown away with the light of day into the night. 

My life has not been easy. I was not handed things in life. Not a rich spoiled brat. Maybe a spoiled brat at some points in my life. At certain achievements such as graduation or milestones. A single mother and a grandmother who stayed with me even with a hellion teenager. 

Once graduated from required schooling, I stayed behind as my oddly normal classmates went out into the world on a grand tour of the in betweens. Being a young adult coming into a working adult as it once were. I made a commitment to my grandmother as she did me. I aided in her care until her passing. I stayed with mom and now I aid in her care as a singular adult, no one else to help care for her as there was once was for my grandmother. 

Now the moment has arrived where my life is no longer my own as it would seem. The house we once were happy in no longer exists. What now stands in its place is that of despair and sorrow. No more fake smiles to get by. No more arguments that become forgotten moments later. The negative energy follows us to our temporary roof over our heads. The insults linger of bad odors and stink of trash. 

The leftovers of hurt feelings and anguish follow us to what pays the bills.  Minds no longer cover up or dispose of the anxieties of facing each other once again after the day is over. The heart attacks of anxiety overwhelm the rational logic. It is not going to get better. Are we at the worst part before it gets better? I cannot tell of late what this is. 

Why must she continue speaking of personal death as if it were a doctor's appointment? Is this the true nature of the family line? The willingness to give it up and just not care anymore?! Why is it such importance of what you think you will leave behind? I have urged to have things changed so it would not be of importance. My requests have been muted. So many times you ignore what I say. So many times you do not want to hear why I am in anguish. Refusal to speak none of this truth for fear of dire consequences. What would people think of you if they could only hear the truth behind your smile? 

My own self is not of my own anymore. I require space for personal maintenance of self. To replenish my own serenity and peace and patience. I am so wound up tight with anxiety. I fear my own panic once again. I despise who I am now. The phantom of the opera. A scrooge. A common thief with no ease of pain. My panic disorder is not eased by external or internal methods anymore. Anxiety does not ease up. 

I have worked so hard to find some peace inside myself to become a better person. To respect. To love. Disavow hate and isolation. 

The house has fallen into disrepair. There is no hope and no savior for what once called a home. It is a dilapidated house. What was once was love is now hate. A family once is now a solitary soul in desperate need of healing. 

Emotions so intense and desperate. What emotions are behind the madness that has taken over me? Difficult times have not eluded me. They have helped define my resilience. My resilience is fading. The smiley face is no longer clear. It is a blurry face.  My heart wants to cry deeply, the fear of vulnerability will not allow such exposure. Will I break down and cry when she picks me up?

All the years I have given over to caring for family. I have nothing to show. I feel like a nomad. My heart cries out for what would be a normal family. I have no place to go. No way to run away to a safe place. What have I really given up? What would I have become? Who would I have been if things were different? I have no one to hand my heart over to as I vomit it up with sorrow. 

What would happen if I left her? Would she really die? Her mother gave up. Just quit taking her medication. She didn't take care of herself. She lapsed into a coma to her death. It was devastating. Depression. I try to tell myself all the negative statements and behavior is because of it. It is just too overwhelming for my heart. I have no one left to take care of my soul. 

That may be the saddest part of all. Everything ends with me. 

Why should I care about having anything. All of it will end up at a thrifty store. What a sham.

Giving up

So many dark clouds hang over me right now. I have become unmanageable.

I reach out and no one understands. My thought processes go unnoticed. I write in literary terms, not too make everything too damn clear. Maybe I speak to the wrong people. People are too comfortable in believing I will always be okay.

Here is the thought for the day: I am NOT okay. Miserable. Anxious. Edgy.

I had a speech to give in my speech class. I was fine and okay until the moment I got up to talk. I lost it. I did not speak clearly. I fumbled on my power point presentation. I knew the material inside and out. I cannot speak in public. I was the last one to go. I had a few minutes. I felt so much pressure. I did everything I could not to lose what control I had left. I do not do well in public. I am a “behind-the-scenes” person.   

I have been able to manage my depression, panic disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder for a long time. It is boiling over now. I generally know when my periods are close because I feel the PMS cramps a week before. It is only relevant to my misery. All of it is worse the week before and the week of my period. I believe it is PMDD. I step beyond just having PMS like normal women.

I have been crying so much. On the other hand, I feel that I just don’t fucking care. I say the F-word a lot. I say ‘whatever’ a lot. I have anxious feelings where ever I go. I do not want to go anywhere. I sleep too much. I crave ice cream and coffee. I really do not care if we sell the house. I do not care if the house gets cleaned.

I feel that I have scared some people off. Thomas doesn’t talk to me anymore. All I want is a friend who checks in every now and again. I miss Ms. Barbara. She knows how I feel. I took a chance when I was offered opportunities. Everything is so different now. I want it back. I want my friends back! I think Thomas knows I’m broken. I feel like I’m the person on the other side of the tracks that no one wants to talk to.

People tend to be afraid of people like me. I am not violent. I know I’m a good person. People are homeless. Children are homeless. Animals roam the streets. Children, animals, and people are being abused every day. It breaks my heart.

All through time with my demons in tow, I still have managed to be kind hearted, reaching out to people, and trying to make sure that I stay in touch with people that I care about. Some of it seems to go unnoticed. Oh well. I need to be more of a selfish bitch.

I have to do something to get better. I have a few options to get there. I have to be strong enough to get through these dark clouds.