The last couple of months have been really good for me. Hubby and I have been taking lots of little exploration road trips around the northwest. Orko is LOVING my new job which allows him to come to work with me everyday, where he gets to be fawned upon and adored by his growing fan base. And I might actually make it through 2018 without starting any kitchen and/or bathroom fires.
Yes, one could say that I have a pretty good thing going… and then depression slithers in with it’s whiny little voice and destroys it all with a sentence.
“You mom’s dead and you’ll never get to talk to her, or feel one of her amazing squeeze hugs, ever again.”
… wow… you punk ass little bitch…
Technically I know I’m doing this to myself, there’s not some evil entity floating around me, ruining my happiness by saying these incredibly hurtful things. I’ve read the books, I’ve done the therapy. I know this is the part of me that feels bad about getting over my mother’s death and accepting my new life without her.
Still, I fucking hate that voice and if it could take a physical form for like just a minute, that would be the best minute of my life.
I would beat the living shit out of that thing.
There’d by no Queensberry rules for this asshole. I’d be poking eyes, going for the groin, Mike Tysoning some ears! I mean we’re talking Rated M for mature audience shit.
But instead I’m writing, to help me get through the pain, and the disappointment in myself for making it harder on myself, even though I know it’s not my fault.
Although, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask for some kickboxing classes for Christmas… just in case.