Honesty @ the Bottom of a Glass
I don’t drink. That is, I don’t consider myself a drinker. In the last year I bought 2 mickeys and vodka and only finished half of one. I had to throw away my last jug of clamato juice. Every once in awhile, it occurs to me to have a drink- not for any purpose really, just to unwind. I’m sure that taste-wise, I’d be just as happy completely dry of alcohol. I bought another mickey yesterday and I’ve had a caesar the size of a double gulp every day this week, after work.
I’m not sleeping. I mean it. I’m really not sleeping. I have never had insomnia this badly in all my life. And that’s saying something. Funny enough, I have had a few energy drinks- but they’re not keeping me awake. I’ve only had a red bull or two after more than two days without sleep, during a period of gut rot so bad that it’s either a red bull or a bottle of pills (Kill me now!!) Things are stressful, and I think finally beyond my ability to manage. I’m one of those people who turns into survival robot when shit gets hard, and I just do what needs doing because there is no alternative. This time it feels like any option is a catch-22 and that there are no options that are either valid or haven’t been tried already. I have no ideas. I am completely without inspiration. Usually things like this are logically based, but beyond that I have tried to be creative- hell I took a 6 month class about this. And it has yielded no results. I’m getting nervous and it consumes me into the dull hours of morning when everyone is getting up. Only then when my eyes are twitching my sight into manic blindness can I even attempt to sleep- only then when it would require a herculean strength of will to stay awake can I actually sleep. And even then, sometimes when my head hits the pillow, the nagging paranoia keeps my eyes open and my mind alive. I want to sleep. But I cant. The only time I have to attempt to relax is at night. It seems to counterintuitive. I’m exhausting myself by staying awake and relaxing at night when there is no better relaxation than sleep, but sleeping makes me so tired. And I sleep in so long. And I’m alseep so I don’t really get to experience the relaxation.
I’ve been having disturbing nightmares. Sleep, when it does come, is restless and exhausting. I wake up several times a night.
Things just got more complicated, also. My Mom, after 11 years of service, has lost her job. I haven’t really talked to her yet, and I haven’t seen her since she was let go. I’m actually really surprised I haven’t heard from her yet. I know she hasn’t returned to work, and usually when she has a spare 5 seconds, she is obsessively stalking me. Not a word. That concerns me. I don’t know what she is supposed to do now. Starting over at 49? That’s a daunting and difficult task. Especially when she was just let go from the top paying employer in the city. Finding work for anyone is hard now, let alone for a 49 year old who can’t work on her feet. Hopefully EI will pay her decently. She is talking about moving back to Vancouver.
Things for me, work wise, are improving. My hours were drastically cut on my last cheque and I barely broke $400. It was a pathetic and impossibly small paycheque. But after applying for other work and persistently pestering I managed to bring my schedule back up to where I need it to be. My extended medical finally kicked in. That was a relief.
Things are hard. Things are emotionally hard. I try to act like I can deal and I don’t care but I am hurt. Emotionally, I am hurting. I am tired of things being this hard. It is a blow-softener to hear people acknowledge that I am having an unusually hard run- because at least now I know it’s not just my imagination. I get out of one scrape just in time to get into the next one- if I’m lucky, that is. I am growing ever so much more resentful of young parents- especially those who got knocked up by accident, as a consequence of some stupid drinking binge. I want to rip their hair out- those stupid girls pushing their kids around in those value village cloth strollers, like purse dogs, coming into my store and cramming sugar-filled food and slushies into their 3 year old faces. Children should not be allowed to be parents. It’s an insult.
I’m resentful. I’m resentful because I think I realized today that when my husband says he’s not ready to have more kids (he has one) he really means he doesn’t want any more. I know he’s told me that isn’t what he means, but who is he kidding? He turns 38 in a few short months. I am coming up on my 26th birthday in only 62 days. If I were to get pregnant today, I would give birth just before I turn 27. The closer I get to 30 the more emotionally wrecked about childbirth I get. The harder it will be. The more impossible it becomes. The more imaginary it all seems. The closer I get to thirty without a plan, without a commitment to the idea of having a baby with me, the more I want to cut out my own uterus. I feel veangeful that way- like “I told you this is what I wanted, so if I can’t have it, here is my uterus hat.” Don’t get me wrong- I love my step-daughter. But I never get to see her, and when I do it is always made very clear to me that she is not my daughter, even if I treat her like she is. She and I will never be able to have that- not with the hatred her real mother has for me.
I am giving myself a certain amount of time. If I reach 28 without having a baby I am going to have a historectomy. And I have no plans to tell my husband about it. At the moment I’m not even sure I will tell him before it happens, or once it is done. He wouldn’t care anyway. I can’t let him tell me when I’m 29 and he is 43 that he wants to have a baby. A few months isn’t going to be the difference in saving my life. 30 is the age at which child bearing for me becomes lethal. Having a baby at 29 could cost me my life. I’d rather just wait until 28 and rip out my fucking womb. I’m not sure I should even bother. I’m never having children. If I thought I was going to I don’t think I would be so angry. I’m certain that much of my anger comes from that I can take a fucking hint. I know a “no” disguised as a “maybe” when I hear it. So many people, so many friends, so much younger than me, some without even spouses- and they have kids. And I resent them.
Tonight I am full of spite, and full of hate, and so angry. Tonight I don’t care. Tonight I know doubtlessly that my life is nothing but a long series of arguments that I won’t win. I don’t see the point in fighting anymore. Tonight I give up. Tonight I’m not trying, or fighting, or persevering for anyone. Tonight when I don’t care about my future I can’t be bothered to protect a future I don’t want. Tonight, if that is how you see it, I am selfish.