I get angry sometimes.
Tonight is one of those times and I’m breaking all my own rules of not writing when I’m in that moment. But something has to give and I’d rather it be my pride than something worth something or something that will cost me money to fix.
It’s an anger I direct at myself, but it comes out on others … I’m well aware of that and this time I screamed at my child. I screamed him into silence which says how much he realised it was serious. He just lay there in bed, eyes wide, somewhere else, trying to get away in his head and, just possibly in his little 3year old brain, wondering what on Earth is wrong with his mother.
What is wrong with his mother currently, is ‘his mother.’ That’s the end of that paragraph, summed up quite nicely I think.
What triggered the change of mood … well the obvious I guess. The fact that I spent the last two weeks of off-and-on sunny days ‘reaching out to the joys of spring‘ – deliberately not looking at my bank account on-line as I knew it would trigger a reaction like this. But in hindsight … oh the benefits of that! … I should probably have done it anyway; two weeks of stacking up the inevitable was bound to blow like a cork and boy did it ever.
So here we go again. One giant leap for humanity … right back to where I was exactly a year ago when they stopped all my accounts; back to where I was a year ago when the machine spat out my card and said ‘try again when you’ve done about ten more projects’ and back to where I was a year ago, when I temporarily stopped believing I could ever make this ridiculous fantasy of an independent life actually work.
I stuck my finger up at it last time. Fact. I refused to give up. Fact. I didn’t sign on to welfare which everyone told me to do ‘for the sake of my son’. Fact. Everyone is still telling me I was and am selfish, pig-headed, stubborn and will burn in hell for dragging my son down with me for the sake of my pride. Fact. I have worked my butt off. Fact.
I am going down. Fact.
And that makes me so fucking angry. I never said fuck in a blog before, but if I don’t I’ll throw my glass at the wall. Sorry.
I tipped over the paper recycling basket this evening and howled. I trapped my hand in the dustbin chucking out said paper and howled again. I despise this pathetic poor me of a stupid cow who really, this time, does not seem to be getting it together. Another fact.
I’m normally not a person who lets life get in the way of what I want to do, but this time, something took the wheel… I’m out of control and there is no vocabulary in any of the three languages I know which can describe how filthy that feels. I have to work this out. I have no choice. But Jesus Christ I’m not sure how much more I’ve got to give …