Tuesday, August 4, 2009

I Am Not a Fighter

For some reason, people think I'm tough. Maybe because I've lived through so much...growing up in a violent family, my father's suicide, "assault" at age 13, my absent mother throughout my teens, bad relationships, the list goes on.

But losing my home is beating me. I can't seem to find the strength to get through it. Others have born it and moved on. I can't seem to shake the depression, even with the help of pharmaceuticals. Every little detail draws me down: the snail vine growing up the patio column. It will die when we leave. We can't really take it with us; what's the point in planting on rental property?

I'm sinking in stress. Already I'm worried about how many push-pin holes Allie will put in the walls of her rented bedroom, despite my asking her not to.

I will miss my fluffy brown carpet in our bedroom.

Weird little thoughts like that, all day long.

All day long.

1 holla'd back:

Unknown said...

I'm so worried about you. Please tell me if there is something I can do??? Want to do lunch on me???? Anything to get you out of the house and thinking about other things. Let me know. I can only imagine what it would be like to be going through what you are enduring. I know other people have done it, and I am sure it was difficult for them as well. I believe you are very strong.

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