No, I haven’t been posting the past few days. Even my therapist got upset at me because I’ve not been writing.
When you’re in a funk, you can’t write. You can’t do anything but sit and spin your wheels which just causes more frustration over how you’re not going anywhere in your life.
I can end up waiting up to six months for someone to do something about my ERO/EEOC claim because that’s the law. Even though I now can’t work doing the job I had because some idiot decided he wanted to make the rules instead of following the law, I have to wait for the legal process to take its course.
I’ve applied for so many jobs in the local area I’ve completely lost count. And have I heard anything back? Nope. Or when I go somewhere thinking I might like to apply and I can already see in their faces the fact that they’re not thrilled over my 86-pound constant companion, I don’t bother. Besides, I’d rather have her with me everyday than the crap that can happen at most places.
Got news about a family member who’s going through some tough times. I want to be able to help and give support but I also don’t want to be intrusive. I remember when I was in a somewhat similar situation and the last thing I wanted was pity from anyone and I usually got a lot of unsolicited advice that didn’t do me much good. I don’t want to be one of those kinds of people.
One of my friends was to get married tomorrow and her fiancé left her today. She and her young daughter who had opened their home and lives to him and his excuse is because his biological son is afraid of having to make new friends when he moves. What a jerk.
I’m trying to help celebrate Youngest Son’s upcoming birthday. I went to the movies with Husband, Youngest Son, and four of his friends. They had a great time and I was really glad they could go. I just feel like I wish we could have done more.
Husband and Youngest Son are currently in the basement doing laundry and playing a computer game. I sincerely appreciate that they’re doing the laundry because that means I don’t have to do it and I don’t have to go outside to get to the basement. It’s not a “finished” basement like many people have. It has a floor and walls, but there’s no way to access it from inside the house. And with the heat the way it is, I’m not in the mood to go outside much.
And, yes, Depressive is trying to get me to post but I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired that it’s just been easier to do nothing and sleep instead of trying to come up with something to write and crying while I feel awful.
Maybe I’ll get back on a schedule. Maybe I’ll stop writing completely. I’ve already told my therapist that I’m not writing anymore at the moment about my past because I’m getting to big areas that I don’t really remember. There are a lot of blank spaces in my memory — some last days, some last years — and whatever is hidden inside them I do not want to bring back to the surface. It wouldn’t be healing; it would be reopening the wounds that my brain has found a way to deal with that doesn’t cause me any additional damage. I remember trying to deal with them and it didn’t work then. Time does not heal all wounds.