In my insomnia I find some of the truest and purest thoughts. I don’t know who I am any more, I don’t know why I gave up on somethings to become others, and why I have compromised so much just to be unhappy. I tell myself happiness is a choice and I can say in earnest that I do in fact devote thought and energy into becoming happy and feeling satisfied, but I didn’t get what I feel I deserve, and I continue to come up empty handed and empty inside. I never expect, so to say, my husband to fulfill me or my wants and needs; or for him to love me and show it like I do for him. I don’t expect my mother to understand, or to behave like a mother should, and i do get tired of taking care of her, and listening to her problems. I am sick of her making my Cystic Fibrosis and my shitty health into a burden for her.

I am sick of saying there there mother it will all be okay I will be healthy and live longer than a lot of other sufferers. Maybe I am weak but I would like maybe just a tad bit of room to mourn myself, or to feel angry and sad and bitter and torn up and to have some one tell me it will all be okay and some one to tell me that it is all going to be okay. I want someone to tell me I am pretty even when I am not and someone to hold my hand when the thunder gets loud and the waves come crashing on me. I want some one to tell me I am smart or to thank me for doing all the laundry and cleaning the house and scrubbing the toilets and bleaching the white sinks and showers. To tell me how amazing I am to do all of this and keep up with your insecurities and take care of our son, and for once maybe you would put down the electronics, and just sit and talk with me abotu something I like to do or think about, really talk to me.

I guess that is what you get if you settle down into some body who you thought was the best, some one who loved you despite of all the bad. And now as I am growing up and realizing I could have had better, some one who loves and appreciates me, it is far to late, that ship has sailed and even if he left me I wouldn’t ever be loved again. I am now even more so used goods, I am worth even less than I was before. Its been a long time since I felt a rush of excitement or joy, where I smiled unbridled without control or awareness. there is no amount of work I could put into myself, no ammount of muscle to gain, or cosmetics to apply, or cute dresses to buy, that would make any body interested in me.

Everybody is a little broken , and I guess that is why I can be bought with such a discount. It does not take much to win me over, lies and carefully bent truth is all it really takes. Some one please give me a gun so I can shot out the bad parts of me, a knife to cut out the rotten parts, and glass of water and a bucket to wash out all this burnt taste. I gave up everything to be where I am, and now I want everything I gave up, I want my booze I want my razors I want my two jobs and my credit hours, fuck the therapy and group, I want my issues back. Living fucked up is easier, and I want to wimp out and give up on everything. 

but I won’t, I just need to pick myself back up/