Li’l Bit of Nothing

Life seems unreal sometimes. I have an idea where I’m going; I have an idea of what I want to do with my life other than be a mother, but then these thoughts pop in my head and I stop.

Where am I going to be at this time next year, in two – three years? Five years? What am I going to do if something happens to one of my children? What am I going to do if the courts rule that my children should go and live with their biological father? Or what if something happens to me?

I try to expect the unexpected. I try to plan for the unexpected, but that normally doesn’t work out. Who knows to expect everything? Even paranoid people don’t expect everything.

I guess I’m close to paranoid too, though. I worry about everything. Mostly for my children. I want the best for them, I do. But then things in my mind blur together and I don’t know where my thoughts are going.

Everything is “what if” and “how am I” and it makes my anxiety climbs higher and higher.

It’s why I write here. Why I write so much. To get my thoughts out of my head and, hopefully, to calm down my anxiety a bit.

It works most of the time. 🙂

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My Mother and I

I have a complicated relationship with my mother. That’s putting it lightly.

At this point I’ve put the past in the past, where it belongs. There are times when I have start dwelling on what has happened and who to believe: the rest of my family or her? Then I realize that it doesn’t matter because it’s over and done with. What matters is what she and every other person in my life chooses to do now – how to handle their own life and how much they want to be involved in mine, whether they truly want to help me or they don’t. I can’t make those decisions for them.

But it all comes back to my mother.

From the time I moved out with my [now] ex-husband, she was one of the few people to support me even if she wasn’t fond of him. I was happy about that. She told me how she felt and she was honest; she didn’t hide from me the fact that she didn’t like him. It’s the fact that she still helped me when I was pregnant and inbetween homes, when everyone else was proven right that he was an a**hole and they wanted to shove it in my face.

She helped me. Then.

Two years later I’m living on my own an hour away from her and she’s still the one that I talk to the most out of my family and still the one that I see the most out of my family. She’s still the one that is most willing to help me when times get tough and something comes up suddenly. She’s my mother; mother’s do that kind of thing.

But she didn’t when I was growing up. She was never there. Ever.

She’s told me that she’s trying to make up for it. It honestly seems like she is. There’s just one problem.

My mother’s letting me stepfather influence her too much. I’m not sure if it’s consciously or subconsciously or if it’s because she’s been with him for so many years, but it’s happening. I have proof. It’s this proof that hurt me the most.

Those months ago, earlier this year, when my ex took my children for three weeks and I panicked because I had no idea where they were, just a vague idea, and he wasn’t allowing contact? That’s when it happened. On the second day after he finally fessed up that he wasn’t bringing them back like he said he would I finally told my mother. She told me to calm down and basically go through every thing that I already had. She said she would wait a day or two to tell my stepfather. My mom was on my side. She thought that what I was doing was right, especially since I had already spoken to my lawyer and was calling him everyday to try and get something done. She was proud of me, though not half as anxious.

Those two days went by fast. I kept my mother up-to-date with what was going on. One day, mid-afternoon, my cell phone rang. It was my mother. She told me that she’d told my stepfather the night before and then she started in on me about how I needed to “get something done to get your kids back”.

Because I wasn’t trying to do that?! Seriously?!

She kept yelling and ranting at me through the phone. She had switched sides, from being completely on my side to completely agreeing with whatever my stepfather said. What’s sad is that within the past night and earlier in the day I had just been discussing that I thought my mother would do that.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

It was bad enough that I was so anxious that I couldn’t be in the house by myself, I was restless so I was constantly walking, I’d had multiple panic/anxiety attacks and I wasn’t able to even GLANCE at children without bursting into tears.

And she had the nerve to tell me, as a message from my stepfather, that what I was doing wasn’t enough, was wrong, and I needed to do more and not to listen to my lawyer?!

I love my mother, but F*CK THAT!

It was the first and only time it had happened in my life, but I just lost it. I started yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs into my phone at my mother. I don’t remember everything I said. I couldn’t control what I said. Every word that came out of my mouth was exactly what was on my mind and how I was feeling. I had snapped.

That had never happened to me before. Nobody previously and nobody since then has gotten me that worked up.

I know this: I told her that my stepfather was just that – my stepfather, and that he had no right to tell me what to do. That I was an adult and I didn’t care if she was my mother she couldn’t make my decisions for me. He wasn’t my father, he’s never been my father, and he’s never tried to act like my father so he needed to just shut the f*ck up.

And that was just the part that I can remember. I ranted at my mother for a good five minutes. And then I hung up on her without letting her say anything. And didn’t answer any calls from her house for a week. The only communication would be if something came up having to do with my children, and even then I was emotionless and stayed on the phone for as short a period as possible.

And I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing. What she did. I don’t think she realized how much she hurt me.

Unfortunately, nothing about this changes the fact that I love my mother. No matter how shitty she may treat me. It’s like I’m in an abusive relationship and I just keep coming back for more. I don’t understand why I do even though I know how I’m going to be treated and that I’ll never reach any sort of approval in her eyes.

I’m the child she didn’t want. At least, that’s my assumption.

When I was pregnant, right after I left my ex-husband, my mother and stepfather asked me two questions: “Is it yours?” and “Are you going to keep it?”

My mother was in almost the exact situation with me and she kept me.

That hurt too.

I don’t think she realizes that, unlike the rest of my family, I don’t hold grudges. I just keep memories. I will remember. I will never forget. Ever.

But I won’t hold it against her. I love my mother.

Rules of the Universe? Ooo-k.

I read somewhere, don’t ask me where, that if you say something out loud or think it “too loudly” then it would happen. Somewhere along the line I started believing it and living by it.

When I don’t want something to happen, I won’t believe it, or fully believe it. If I speak of it, even if in my heart of hearts I truly believe something is or isn’t going to happen, I will talk as if there is an extreme likelihood of the opposite happening. I even guard my thoughts and try to just not think about what is or isn’t going to happen so nothing will go wrong.

I know life isn’t perfect, but really? I sound like I’ve gone superstitious (which I’ve never been).

Here’s the kicker though: it’s working and I don’t have an explanation.

I’m not avoiding any situation really; I know it’s there and I fully embrace it and prepare for it. I know every option.

God? It’s not that I don’t believe in God because I do, but, well, I’m not going to get into that argument online.

Karma? The whole “what goes around comes around” thing? I’m not so sure. Maybe, but it still doesn’t quite fit.

At this point, I’ve started calling what’s going on a part of the Rules of the Universebecause I have nothing better to either call it or describe it.

* * *

It’s a work in progress.

Ramble. Rant. Confusion. WTF?!

Have you ever felt like something was happening around you and you could feel it, but you weren’t sure what it was? I have; I do right now.

It’s odd. It’s like I can almost tell what it is, but when I get close to what it is, something throws me off and then I feel like I’m just standing there, confused. It’s horrible. At times I feel like it has something to do with my ex-husband and the pending court case. I think that he’s planning something and that everything I see or hear about him is just some small piece of a bigger puzzle that he’s putting together; almost like he’s trying to get me to believe certain things with lies and manipulation through other people, by making me too comfortable with how things are going in my life now and then everything will just… explode…. around me.

I know I sound paranoid, but I like I said before, after I start thinking like that and “putting my ideas together” so to speak, something throws me off.

Then I start thinking about moving and renting places. About how my fiance said the other night that he’s getting fed up with people not believing that we have the money or judging us on the fact that he’s a full-time student and not taking his student-loan money as if they’ve never dealt with college students before even though we live in a college area. He said that if we didn’t get this place, or a place in general soon, then he was just going to move to a different place that was cheaper (different from the one he has) that allows his dog and is a one-bedroom.

I hate it because I feel like the world is turning against me. Against me and my children. Against me and my fiance.

And then I feel even worse because I feel like my family just hates me because they never talk to me even though I try to make efforts with them. My mother and my uncle try the best that they can, though they have even better excuses for not being able to than the rest.

The family I’m talking about lives excruciatingly close and only talks to people they feel like, it seems, and favor certain people (aka: certain family members), are major hypocrites and like to talk behind peoples back, exaggerate, and/or lie. I know this, but then again, I don’t. I hate it because I love my family and I don’t want to dislike my family, but it seems like they don’t care about me anyway.

I told one of my family members today that there’s a probability of me moving a decent amount away. She looked at me like I was crazy, like she didn’t expect me to ever do something like that. Seriously? What’s keeping me where I am? Family? I can come visit. Friends? What friends? I have no life. I would have more of a life where I’m hoping to move (though I will say that I’m not too hopeful, unfortunately, so yeah).

My life is just crazy, hectic and out of control. I don’t know what’s happening and yet I know exactly what’s going on. It’s a chaotic mess that, ironically, I know where everything’s at.

I’m too young for a mid-life crisis. Gah. :-/

More Than Just Blogging

Hey, all who read this! What’s up?

This is a friendly update to let you know:

Oh yeah, I write more things than what I write on this blog. Did I forget to mention that?

Of course, everybody who’s read the “About” section of my blog probably knows that already. Along with this blog I write poems, short stories, and am working on various novels and novellas. I do have two poems in print, and they won first and second prizes in widespread contests, but that was at least five years ago. It’s harder now, at least it seems like it.

I’m not big on posting my writings on the Internet, but I found a site that I’m willing to do so. Earlier in the month I posted the link in the upper right corner: deviantART is the name of the site.

But that’s not necessarily what I meant either.

Sure, that’s the majority of what I meant, but not the full story so to speak.

I thnk I’ve mentioned this before, but I when I write, I write with meaning. Sure, it doesn’t always seem so and I know for a fact that sometimes I rant, but can you honestly say that at some point in time you haven’t learned from someone else’s mistake? Or that you’ve never read something someone wrote and it just clicked with you, even though it was one of the most random things you’ve ever read?

That’s what I do.

I try to write about things I know; I will never write otherwise. To me, that’s like lying. Why would you write about something if it wasn’t dear to your heart or affected you in some way?

I’ve written about the measles; it was an informative article, sort of, but it also told you why I was writing it. I wrote that article because my son had contracted it because even though he’d been vaccinated. Did you know that now there’s articles going up about “anti-vaccination protests” and “parents for vaccines not speaking up”? It’s a contradiction, but a story for another post.

I’ve written about government programs and income problems; I’ve written about moving and renting houses. I’ve done before and after articles as I try to work out where I went wrong.

Can you tell me that if you were going through the same problems and saw the articles that it wouldn’t have helped you in some way?

It’s all in the way that you look at it.

Write. Read. Help. Inspire. Realize. Hope.

There’s more to writing than just words.

deviantART – KCmoonchild’s page

Never Woulda Thought

So I’m sitting next to my fiance editing a video that I’m trying to make in my freetime with this 30-day free trial editing program that he got me (he said if I liked it enough he’d buy the updated version – YES) and he’s watching World War Z that he rented from the local video store; he’s been checking daily for it.

Anyway.

I had my headphones on so I wouldn’t interrupt him because I’m working with and editing audio as well and he suddenly pauses his video and motions to me. He wants me to watch a part of the movie that he just watched. So I took my headphones off, saved my progress and I watched it. (I’m not so fond of zombie movies of any sort.)

After I watched it and he paused it again, he made the comment: “That’s totally Evil Bitch!” As he said this, he was laughing.

To make it clear, “Evil Bitch” is his ex-wife. The name is fitting.

The part that he was talking about though is the “Mother Nature is a Serial Killer” quote. For those who haven’t seen the movie and have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s the quote:

“Mother Nature is a serial killer. No one’s better.. more creative. Like all serial killers, she can’t help the urge to want to get caught. And what good are all those brilliant crimes, if no one takes the credit? So she leave crumbs. Now the hard part, why you spend a decade in school, is seeing the crumbs for the clues they are. Sometimes the things you thought were the most brutal aspect of the virus, turn out the be the chink in its armor, and she loves disguising her weaknesses as strengths. She’s a bitch.”

My fiance went on to describe the reasons why it fit her, and it does! It really does! She wants to get caught so she can take credit for “hiding her crimes” for as long as she did. Though, instead of a serial killer, she’s a serious kleptomaniac.

I thought it was hilarious. Mean, yes, and I’ll admit that, but you don’t know this woman. It is the unfortunate truth that I know this woman and can say that she really is an Evil Bitch.

Random Realization

Just a brief little update that I find amusing. It’s more of a realization about myself than anything, but still. It’s amusing nonetheless. 🙂

I think I figured out why I prefer older men. Or at least partially why. It’s the beginning of a theory, it is.

I read too many romance novels where the lead female gets involved with a male who is a decent amount older than her. As in 7+ years older. I find it fascinating that I just realized this.

Because out of my four most serious relationships, three were 7+ years older than me. My fiance is 13 years older than me, in fact.

Environmental influences at its best. Gotta love it.