Work, Write, Love

There are so many things wrong right now. It’s ridiculous. I’m thinking too much and everything is driving me crazy. I think I’m getting slightly depressed because I’m stuck inside all the time recently because of the weather, with all of this cold and snow that’s been coming through everywhere here in the eastern United States. I guess it doesn’t make anything better when my fiance is working overtime because one of his co-workers is so badly injured that he isn’t able to work for the next two (2) months, so him and his other co-workers are putting in an exponential amount of extra hours to cover for him. This week, alone, he’s worked over sixty (60) hours. While, yes, the paycheck’s going to be lovely and both of us are looking forward to it… I miss him. I miss him a lot and I don’t get to spend enough time with him. We used to spend more time with each other. Hell, when my aunt was living with us we saw more of each other then, than we do now and we had severe privacy issues back then!

But all of this is just me ranting and raving. I need to get it out of my system. I have nobody – absolutely no one – to talk to about all of this.

I don’t have any close friends. I don’t really trust my family with personal information any more. It’s come to the point that the therapist who stops by bi-weekly to help with my child in his development (he’s a little behind, y’see) is easier to talk to than anybody else… except, of course, my fiance. But then it comes down to the fact that he’s never here and when he is, he seems to be sleeping because he’s so worn out from working. We never talk anymore. We never spend time with each other. We don’t even have money for a single Valentine’s Day dinner, I’ve come to find out.

I’m trying to figure out his schedule so that maybe I can arrange my mother and stepfather to babysit the children for a night or two so that my fiance and I can just have a night to ourselves and we can just, I don’t know, go out. Spend time with each other. See a movie. Have dinner. Go to a bar. Just have fun with each other. It’s not a big deal. The whole point, nonetheless, being is that we just need to spend time with each other. Without the children. Every couple does.

I feel like I’m losing him. And maybe it’s just me. I know I get paranoid sometimes and I definitely know that I have a tendency to overthink things, but it seems like my fiance and I have been growing distant from each other as of late and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I know he loves me though. I need to stop being paranoid. The signs are there that he loves me. I’m letting too many things build up inside of me. Little things. Reminders from my past; things that people have said to me that are starting to get to me. It’s unfair and I don’t like it. I know what he’s really like. But again, that’s the problem. The little things that are wiggling their way into my mind are making me doubt stuff like that and, in my mind, if I really love my fiance I shouldn’t ever doubt him. I know that nobody is perfect; I know that no relationship is perfect, but I can’t help but continually wonder if something’s going wrong or if… just if.

I’ve wandered into “what if” categories. I really don’t think that’s a good sign.

A good sign, though, I think, is that he is the one person (not including my children) that I can’t picture myself without. I think and think and think, and then it occurs to me that we already act like we’re married. We share bills, rent, a home, chores, cooking (though, I will admit he does the majority when he’s not working); we share decisions and we compromise. We actually talk about where we’re heading in the future – where we want to go, in the sense of “when we finally get a house of our own and not this place, we’ll…” or “when we’re more financially stable we’ll take a trip to *example place* with the kids… they’d love it”. It makes my heart just grow and burst with such warmth. I feel like squealing and crying from happiness sometimes.

And, y’know, I guess it’s also probably a really good sign that when I’m reading my romance novels or watching my romantic-comedies (*cough* chick-flicks), or any sort of movie or book that has a significant amount of romance in it, I picture the leading female as myself and the leading male as my fiance. Especially once they start dating; especially if it’s starting to get more romantic. The thing is, though, it doesn’t have to be the “more romantic” parts. I have a wild imagination, and if I can picture my fiance and I doing something similar – then we’re in whatever book or movie I’m watching or reading at the time.

I love him and I’m in love with him. I’m not convincing myself of this. I’ve known it for about a year and a half now. My feelings have not faded; they’ve only grown stronger. I guess, though, I didn’t anticipate all of the other emotions – the stress, anxiety – that would come with it.

But he makes me feel beautiful. He makes me feel whole. He makes me feel complete. With him, I am me and no one else. I don’t have to be. He feel in love with me at my worst and has helped me pick up the pieces. I truly believe he loves me for who I am. It’s just hard to believe sometimes. It’s a scary thought… to have found somebody so completely right for me that they’re willing to accept all of my fuck-ups & help me through my rough patches. It’s hard to comprehend to have found somebody who loves me even if my family is so against the relationship, or just completely horrible in their own right but he still loves me because, well, because my family does not define me. My family is not who I am. Just because I am related to them by blood does not always mean they are my family.

And he accepts me. And he loves me. And he loves my children.

That’s all that matters.

Fuck the world. We don’t need anyone else. Nobody else’s opinion matters.

Just ours.

Advertisements

My Life As It Is Now.

It’s… odd. At least to me.

I’ve never been a morning person. Ever. Even when I had to get up early so I could get ready and make sure I was on the bus by a certain time so I wouldn’t miss school, I was the grouchiest lil’ thing in the world. But you’d never know it.

I was good at putting up a happy front. With the life I’ve lived, I had to be otherwise people would be constantly asking me if I was okay, did I need something, or treat me different. Oddly enough, me being happy – or pretending to me, acting like I was – didn’t seem to help and I realized that sometime around my junior year in high school. I stopped caring. I would wake up 10-15 minutes before the bus came; I would brush my hair and pull it up in a ponytail or bun, put on some eyeliner (if I felt like it that day), and grab whatever I could find in my closet. Half the time I re-wore the same pair of jeans 3-4 days in a row. Please don’t get me wrong, though. I did take showers, use deodorant, and keep clean. I just didn’t care about my general body image.

Or socializing. That year I lost all of my friends because they, as I’ve come to find out within the past couple of years, thought I was “too snotty” or “too uppity” or that I thought I was “better than everyone else because I got better grades”. When they told me this these past few years I laughed out loud, and quite obnoxiously at that. Back in that timeframe, I literally just, for lack of better words, didn’t give a fuck. I wasn’t going to “dress to impress” every single day of the week when it was obvious nobody cared anyway. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone beforehand, besides. I was sick and tired of the rumors being said behind my back; that’s why I ignored and just walked passed so many people. They want to talk bad about me and then act like it was nothing? Even when I heard them personally saying it? Ok. Fine. I’ll ignore you.

I’m not a bitch. I give second, third, fourth, and so on chances. But that year I gave up.

Oh, and what’s even funnier? I didn’t have good grades. I got the occasionally A, but it was mostly C’s and D’s, again, the occasional B. I was no where near smart. I cried a lot because I didn’t have good grades and I honestly tried in my classes.

But honestly, none of this is what I wanted to talk about. I just kind of got off track. (But I meant every word.)

My life is different now than it was then. Obviously.

Back then, I wasn’t a mother. I was a teen whose life sucked horribly. At one point I think I considered suicide. Right now I would never even come close to considering it. Right now, in my life, I don’t fake being happy because I genuinely am happy. I don’t put on a happy smile so people will treat me differently. I smile when, well, when it feels right.

Compared to back then, my world is topsy-turvy. I never would have imagined my life as it is now if you would have asked me to back then. I would have said that right now I would either be in college or doing something with my career, maybe planning a wedding or in a serious relationship. The only two that are correct are the “planning a wedding” and “in a serious relationship”, which kind of go hand-in-hand.

At this point in my life I’m a mommy of three and one of my babies, my oldest, is in school. Every weekday morning I wake up between 6:30 and 7AM so I can start getting ready for the day and, more importantly, start getting my baby ready to get on the bus and off to preschool. When we transferred to the school district we’re in now, it was a big switch. Before it was only 2 days a week (Monday and Wednesday) and now it’s preschool every day, which is something I had never heard of.

It’s been three weeks now and we’re finally adjusting to the schedule, though I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that my fiance started his new job and, currently, he’s working a 12-hour shift and leaves at 6AM. (I hate to admit it, but it’s hard to sleep without him.

Recently I’ve been waking up about a half-hour before my fiance leaves for work, though I don’t know how I manage to time that so perfectly. I normally end up staying awake for the rest of the day; I can’t seem to get back to sleep, but by the end of the day I’m ready to pass out. I’ve been getting a lot more done, though. I’ve been eating better or, I should say, I’ve been sticking to my diet better. My kids have been happier and I’ve been sticking them to a better schedule/routine. (Right now it’s about naptime, though they’re fighting it really, really hard. Hence why I’m still typing.) Today I’ve gotten two loads of dishes done, put away one load (from yesterday), swept and mopped the kitchen, taken out the trash can and diaper pail, picked up all of the dirty clothes and started picking up the computer room. Oh! And I finished paying the bills. 🙂 All before 3PM.

This was all between making two bottles three or four times, one sippy cup twice, and handing out snacks at least four times minimum. Oh, and three diaper changes multiplied by 2 with four of those being poopy. And an hour and half (1.5) to two (2) hours was taken up by my oldest wanting me to watch “Pocahantas” with the little booger. The way I was asked I couldn’t say no; besides, it’s one of my favorite Disney movies too! Lol!

But yeah. I feel super accomplished today. I never get this much done.

And believe it or not, my children are currently quiet and asleep now.

Heck. Yes.