One day at a time

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I’m just barely getting by.  Everyone on social media seems to be living each day to the fullest. My days are so empty I might lose my mind. And the nights are worse.

I’m trying to just keep going. Going where I have no idea.  I don’t know what I can hope for. Hoping for love and someone to build a life with seems out of reach.

I should have seen the writing on the wall when he put new songs online titled “bail out” tongues tied tight” and “ghosting”.  How fucking stupid am I?  Obviously, very.

I’m trying to find ways to create more work for myself. I can’t figure out how to make friends but maybe if I can make more money I can visit my far away friends more frequently. Even before my relationship collapsed I was feeling like I needed to get my life more together.  But I felt like it was possible, manageable.  I had some support and affection.  The warm light of love makes impossible things seem possibly possible. Now I just try to get through each tiny day without collapsing under my endless sorrow.

If my life has a theme it’s probably impermanence.  Nothing ever lasts. I’ve started over more times than I can count. I’ve got so many holes in my heart, my life, that can never be filled again. Maybe it’s my karma to withstand loss after loss and I’ll never get to have anything in my life that helps me feel whole. Maybe I should stop hoping for any bit of solace, for any ray of light.

If only I could have a cat. I’m so good with cats. Cats almost always love me. It’s people that I am not great with.

You know it’s bad when you’re only dream is to be a cat lady!

Just disappear

I’m trying to keep from drowning in sorrow. I don’t know if I’m succeeding. Doesn’t feel like it.

I felt like I was seen, valued and loved.  But I was wrong.  I was thrown out with ease. And now I feel so alone. Invisible.

I feel compelled to keep writing. But what do I have to say?  What do I have to offer? Does anyone want to know my inner thoughts?

I want my writing to give me some perspective, some healing. Instead it just feels as futile as everything else in my life.

I might just disappear completely. But if no ones looking does it even matter?

Worth

I’m trying to stay positive.  Or at least neutral.  I’m doing ok. But it’s still a challenge to not collapse into depression.  I’m sad.

I feel mad for even having hope for the relationship to last. But I thought he loved me enough to work through the challenges that invariably arise.  But instead he thought so little of me that throwing me away like trash was no big deal. That is what hurts the most. That I was so wrong. That I’m not worth loving.

Friends keep telling me that I’m lovable, that’s it not me. But when it keeps happening it’s got to be me, right?  Either I’m not lovable or I just pick men who don’t love me despite my supposed lovability. Either way I’m alone. Again.

I miss my former elskan mín. But I wonder if I even knew him? Did he feel anything for me?  How did it all just evaporate?  Will I ever find someone to build a loving stable relationship with?  Am I even worth that kind of love?

It’s hard to feel worth love when your own father didn’t love you and told you how much of a stupid worthless piece of shit you were. I hear all that in my head any time I fuck up, which is pretty much all the time.  I’m trying to stay afloat and I’m surprised to find that I’m doing sort of ok but that voice, that despair is just there. It’s unlikely that it will ever disappear. I hope I can prove it wrong, I hope I can have a successful relationship someday.  Spending the rest of my life alone sounds worse than death. I can’t even have a cat.

Is there anything sadder than a catless cat lady?

 

You probably think this post is about you

I’m feeling quite fed up today.  With everything.  But I’ll limit my rambling to the heart of the matter. That old chestnut “it’s not you, it’s me”.

Absolute bullshit nine times out of ten.

They say this to “avoid hurting your feelings” but it hurts far worse when you discover that they’ve found love right after they told you that they “aren’t open to a relationship right now”.  This has happened so many times to me. Once the new girlfriend became the wife mere months after the guy dumped me. She looked alarmingly like me, but over a decade younger. That was rough.

But I’m not stupid.  It’s obvious that I am the problem.  I’m not worth wanting anything remotely like a relationship with. If someone could just say “I don’t want a relationship with you” it would hurt less, not more. If someone could tell me what’s wrong with me maybe I could fix it. But it’s probably just unfixable. I’m wrong.  I’m not worthy.

So I’m not going to be surprised if my now ex is going to find the love of his life, like,  yesterday. Because that’s how it seems to go again and again.

I’m not perfect but I don’t think I’m completely awful and unlovable. I’m not terrible looking. I’m not horribly out of shape. I try to be loving, affectionate, thoughtful.  Yet. I’m just never deemed good enough for a relationship to become long term. I don’t think I can continue to try. It’s insane to think that this groundhog’s day story will change.  Maybe I’m just not deserving of a loving partner. Sure doesn’t look like it.

Maybe tomorrow I will feel less like trash.  Maybe lack of sleep is contributing to my hopeless outlook. The little bit of sleep I get is filled with weird nightmares. I woke up today  feeling at the edge of endless weeping but I had to go to work so I just made coffee and pushed my feelings down enough to leave the house. But it’s just plain as day. I’m not the kind of woman any man will ever love or cherish. My own dad thought me utterly worthless. Looks like he was probably right. He was an actual fucking genius, so…

I guess I’ll just take up knitting and wait for my uterus to finish dying.

69 followers!

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Oh the irony!  I’ve just reached 69 followers!

I’m going to try to keep writing. Apparently there are at least 69 people who find it worthwhile.

I’ve gotten a request for more posts about my dying uterus.  Perfect. That will likely last another 8ish years!

My friend was saying that whenever I talk about my dying uterus she just pictured a really old man, hobbling along with a cane. I personally picture Maggie Smith circa Downton Abbey, basically same  but with a better outfit!

i do love a good outfit!

Happy 69.

And thank you to all my followers and readers. Just today there are people in the US, India and Sweden!  I don’t know you but I love you.

Beautiful hag

 

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(Bernadette Peters in “Into the Woods”

I discovered the “search terms” today and saw that someone had searched “hot beautiful hag”!

I’m equal parts flattered and confused.  But I had a genuine laugh which I needed so thanks to whoever it was. It made my day, at least for moment.

I’m trying to keep my confidence in the face of feeling discarded like trash. I’m trying to feel lovable despite not being loved anymore. It’s not easy but I’m trying.

I can’t  help but wish that I was better, worth working things out with, worthy of being loved. It’s not easy to know what to do when love is thrown away, where does it go? Was it even real? Why wasn’t it good enough?  I can apply logic, I can slap on platitudes but the question gnaws at me.

I’m doing better than I have in the past, not just crying and sinking into a frightening depression. But I’m feeling extremely defeated. I’m so uninterested in trying to meet someone else but I feel like the older I get the less likely I will stand a chance. Because I’m old and my neck is sliding into my chin. Because when people call me “adorable” I know it’s just code for short and not beautiful.  Maybe I’m beautiful for a hag, as that surprising search suggests. Maybe even if I were beautiful I’d still be alone, because I’m not good enough anyway.

I do know that I gave this relationship everything I could. Im sure I could have done better but I really tried. I always tried to show my love and affection. I tried to be thoughtful.  And I failed anyway. Maybe I’ll do better next time.  If there is a next time.

For now I’ll just try to feel like some random stranger referring to me as a “hot, beautiful hag” is a good sign.

Chop wood, carry water

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(Not my image)

I’m not feeling too great. I’m failing at every aspect of my tiny life. My relationship just failed. Work is not going as well as I need it to, both to be financially stable and as busy as I want to be. I have no social life. If I read another post about how hard it is to handy success I will scream. I’m pretty sure it beats handling failure after failure, hands down.

I managed to do my laundry, which requires leaving my house and walking the 8 blocks to the laundromat. I even managed to put my clothes away, albeit shoved haphazardly into already messy drawers. It’s better than the heap on the floor I almost settled for. I also managed to eat something despite having no appetite. Maybe I’ll lose the damn perimenopause pounds that have crept  back onto  my ass, making my clothes feel like sausage. I even managed to shower!

I guess I should feel good about managing these things. I could have failed to do them. But it feels embarrassing to call that success. It’s just managing the tiny tasks that keep life from piling up. To just keep getting by.

I wish that getting by was enough for me. I wish I felt like anything about me actually mattered, even in a small way. I need to keep going and without any real markers of progress it’s harder every day.

But at least I’ve got clean underwear now. It’s a start.