Walls (Original Poem)


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Here I am, I stand alone

In a house with basic bones

But this is not my home

All the walls are broken down

The windows busted

When will I be found?


Here I am, I can’t get out

The doors won’t open

I scream and shout

Why do I bother

I already know nothing will come out


I walk down these empty halls

I hear them moan and hear them creak

Why didn’t anybody also hear me

When I was weak?

Honestly, I needed you here with me


Here I am, I stand alone

In a house with basic bones

I feel so alone

I am alone


Waiting in this place

For someone to reach out

I just feel so out of touch

There is something deep within myself

Seeking a soul to insync with mine

To echo my own


I practically broke down these walls

Yet still cannot let anybody in

When will I learn

How to unlock all my doors?

Here I am,

Still standing alone

I want you to come in

I need you to save me

Please, let us make this house a home.


Stop complaining.


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How are you? What is going on with you? How are things going? How are you feeling? What’s wrong?

Harmless questions? Common questions? Maybe. Or maybe not so much. Sometimes I feel as though people are so programmed to ask these questions like a robot, that really they do not really care what the answer is.

Do you really care how I am feeling? Or what is going on with me? I feel as though [generally] people ask this question because they are waiting to be asked in return so they can talk about themselves and what is going on with them. Because they would rather hear themselves talk then to investigate further about how or why you feel the way you do. More than naught when someone asks me how I am feeling or what is going on (which isn’t that often, other than my husband) there are no follow up questions or inquisition into the subject at hand. They have other things on their mind, their narcissistic mindset to worry about what is going on in mine.

For this very reason and the way I think it makes me less likely to fully open up to people and tell them about what is really going on with me. Internally. Externally, yes I typically share. They know my situation. Or what I am doing. Perhaps what is going on with my life. What I might do next Tuesday. Or what I will make for the next Bunco. But my feelings? What is on my mind? The internal struggle I might be going through? No, that isn’t something they will ever know. Unless maybe if they ever saw this blog, but only my husband knows about it at the moment. I might keep it that way or I might allow others in. But for the moment I am content with keeping my feelings to myself.

Typically I am rather skilled at keeping things to myself. At least when I see my family. Occasionally I might complain about something or discuss things going on, but never anything internally. I do not really see a point. I go to family outings not to complain about my feelings and pains but to see my family and enjoy our limited time together. I do a fine job at putting my mask on when I knock on their door and wait. Holding a dish or dessert ready with a mentally practiced smile. Not entirely fake but not entirely sincere as well. There has only been one time at a family function where I felt exposed and somewhat vulnerable. It was a little over a year ago and my Aunt Karyn came up to me and asked me if I was okay. I told her yes I was fine, but she told me she was just asking because I looked very sad. The way she looked at me and the empathetic smile both bothered and touched me. I could feel it. Her smile and her gaze piercing through my wall that is normally up. As though for a moment she could see the pain in my eyes. It very much upset me that I let myself be detected like that. Since then, I try to smile more. Laugh more. Joke around more. Even if I don’t really want to. Even if the depression is making me feel like I am pinned against the wall and choking me, threatening me with menacing behavior. Looming over me like a thick cloud of disease.

I know there are times I probably complain too much. I actually try not to. And I am continuing to work on complaining less. I came across a Proverb quote that says

“Instead of complaining that the rose bush is full of thorns, be happy the thorn bush has roses.”

Which is completely true. I always liked that quote and lately have been trying to remember it when I feel like complaining. For what right do I have to complain? What is complaining going to get me? It is not solving anything. We should just focus on the things that we have in life. And the things that are good in our life. Not the things that are bad in our life. Or the things going wrong in our lives. It is never too late or too soon to start appreciating all the things and people in our life that make it worth living. The things we should appreciate that gives our lives even more value.




Complaining should not be confused with venting. Venting is good for our minds and mental health. We all need to vent from time to time. Whether it is through a form of art or just through talk therapy. A friend or mental professional. Whatever your way of medium is and decide it should be. It edges from venting to complaining when you feel the need to constantly “vent”.  That is the line I am trying not to cross into.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

[From a speech delivered April 23rd, 1910 in Paris. -Theodore Roosevelt]

A lot more eloquent then one of the sayings I immensely enjoy saying:

“Complaining without proposing a solution is called whining”. 

I challenge everybody to be more mindful of their words and how they talk about others and possibly others’ situations and actions when they are not around. I challenge myself really. To complain less and to appreciate more. To be more grateful of what I have and not focus on the negative in every situation. Challenge accepted. Namaste.




Guns laws & contacting your congressman


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Dear Mr. Butterfield,

After the recent events of the school shooting in Florida I as a concerned parent and contributing citizen of Durham, North Carolina felt the need to reach out to you. I am not an expert in politics or how things work in the Senate/Congress/etc. But I do know that AR-15’s and other semi-automatics are behind a lot of school shootings and other acts of violence. The number of school shootings over the past several years have continued to increase at an alarming rate. My children are weary when they go to school. And I, myself as a parent fear the public school system and their lack of security and protocol. A combination of that and poor and outdated gun laws have me very concerned. I want to pose the question of why is it legal for a 19 year old to not be able to purchase alcohol legally but they can go out and get an AR-15 with limited or no background checks on the individual. Or why is it legal at all for a 19 year old? Why are semi-automatics allowed to be available for purchase of civilians. 17 people died in a matter of minutes from one gun operator and one gun. I believe in the second amendment but I also believe in gun laws that make sense. Please take action. We need things to change for the positive so people are not dying senselessly. A parent should not sent their 14 year old to school to later be told that tomorrow they will be burying them in the ground because of psychopaths with legally purchased guns that should not be in their hands in the first place.

From a concerned Parent,

Kind Regards,

Ms. Sara E. Walton-ElGazzar

Screenshot 2018-02-21 at 10.32.49 AM


I typed out the general message after I realized the screen shot of my receipt of e-mail to the Congressman may have been too tiny for our little eyes to see. My e-mail message pretty much sums up my thoughts on the situation. I don’t know if my message will make a difference. Probably not. But somewhere down deep inside of me there is a small, itty bitty flame of hope that thrives on the idea that possibly the voice of the people actually matter. I’m not part of the government. I am not a lawmaker. I can’t march at DC with the other protesters. The only thing that I know I can do is contact the people that can make changes to the law and tell them how I feel as a concerned parent. As a human being. To let them know that yes I may be far away from the incident but it effects me. Deeply, deeply impacts me. It is an influence that is felt around the nation. Something that is a growing, troubling problem.

The government and NRA need to stop treating these acts of violence of school shootings as though they are isolated incidences and nothing more. Until it is one of their children dead at the hands of a gunman and an AR-15 semi-automatic then they will continue to bicker about who is trying to take away their bill of rights and second amendment privileges. For God’s sake, can you stop playing politics and care that there are dead children? Their guts and brains blown out from a 19 year old that clearly should have never had possession of a gun to begin with.

I watched on the television as a man addressed President Trump along with the others in the room about how he was there to speak for his daughter, because she cannot. Because she was gunned down and shot NINE times. This isn’t a movie, this is real life. He has buried his daughter, but the pain doesn’t stop there. It has only just begun. What justice could he possibly get that would make sense of any of this? None that I can logically see. It broke my heart and it made me cry. I could feel his pain and the members of his family that were there with him. Standing next to him, almost unable to stand or keep a dry face. Their lips quivering from the pain they were trying to hold back from expressing. Because right now the only thing they want to feel is anger. They are so angry, and rightly so.

We banned these types of guns before in the past and we can do it again to make our schools and communities a safer place.


Please write to your local congressman. Tell them how you feel even if it maybe not be exactly how I feel. Exercise your first amendment rights as an American citizen of the United States.  Please go to:


to find who your local congressman is and send them your thoughts.


It’s hard being fat.


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Yes, you read that correctly. It is hard being fat. Healthy and in shape people would be eating this up with their criticism but I have a bigger point. Life is much harder when you are fat. It doesn’t mean that skinny people do not share some of the same predicaments but let’s face it: When you are overweight or obese then a string of more health problems come in tow. Very much not welcomed, but still there none-the-less.

Ever since the hormones and puberty kicked in I have never really been a “normal” weight. I was always, for the most part, the “bigger” kid. Not necessarily fat, just overweight. Which is hilarious because I was extremely active as a child. I spent the majority of my time outside running around and exploring in the woods with my friends. Playing in the creek. Running past the trails in the lake to feed the ducks. Going to the pool and swimming all day with my friends during the summer. Ate the same things my friends did, was as active as my friends. I was not a couch potato. I didn’t sit for hours sitting on the couch eating snacks and acting like a slug stuck to a pole. So I never quite understood why I was bigger or had that “problem”.

I’ve always been overweight for the most part but luckily because of my height (even though I’m the shortest person in my direct family at 5’8″) when I was in high school I carried my weight well so my 170 lbs looked more like 145 lbs, which is what I should have weighed if you go by the medical standards. Let me look that up just to be sure. Why even type that? Why not edit it and erase it? Well because frankly, I don’t give a shit and if I took the time to type all of this unnecessary information you can take an extra 10 seconds to read it. If you even got this far. So……according to Calculator.net/ this is my results with my age of 35 and height of 5’8″:

“Based on the Robinson formula (1983), your ideal weight is 138.0 lbs
Based on the Miller formula (1983), your ideal weight is 141.1 lbs
Based on the Devine formula (1974), your ideal weight is 140.9 lbs
Based on the Hamwi formula (1964), your ideal weight is 139.1 lbs
Based on the healthy BMI recommendation, your recommended weight is 121.7 lbs – 164.4 lbs


I cannot realistically ever see myself weighing 121.7 lbs. That would look totally gross on me. I would look anorexic to be honest. When I was 170 lbs I did not look that bad to be honest. I had a little bit of a stomach and a little weight to lose on my upper thighs but otherwise I was in good shape. I cannot honest see myself weighing less than 150 lbs. Jesus Louise, I remember when I weighed 170 lbs, I thought I was such a fat cow. If only I knew then what I know now I would have never got where I am now. Some from bad choices. Some from depression. Some from genetics. Some from unfortunate circumstances. Some within my control (though at the time I thought it was not in my control) and some that was completely out of my control. Such as being immobile from spinal injuries and recovering from a car accident as well.  Whatever the case may be, I’m not typically the type of person that looks to place blame elsewhere. It might be a combination of different factors, but I myself am to blame for where I am today. And only I can change that. So no, oh woe is me. Poor, poor pitiful me.



When shit hits the fan you don’t go to sleep in your own filth. You suck it up and deal with it and move on. And that is what I have been doing over the course of the past couple of years. My weight got very much out of control at my heaviest weight of 364 lbs. It was then that it took having very bad chest pains to realize that I could have a heart attack and die. I had to pull myself out of whatever prison I was creating for myself and do something different. So I didn’t die before my 40th birthday. It has taken me a long time to lose the weight I have, which is frustrating as I soon found out during my weight loss experience that I had hypothyroidism so my thyroid was not functioning at the normal rate that it should in order for me to have a healthy metabolism. And with that being a problem it has hindered and slowed down my progress.

As of today I down from 364 lbs to 311 lbs. It is a significant amount of weight, but such a little number for such a large amount of time that I have been working on weight loss. I have to be honest with myself and say some of it does have to do with inconsistency. But for the most part I stay true to a healthy diet and eat what I should. With that being said, when I have lost weight I had the most success on a Ketogenic Diet. It saved my life and so far it is the only thing that works. Everything else that I have tried I either just gain more weight or maintain the weight I already have. And if you are over 300 lbs maintaining weight definitely should not be your goal. I know it isn’t mine, at least.

I am trying to become a healthier person so I can feel better. I have Spina Bifida which means I have constant back pain. And with all the weight gain it has worsened the degree of the pain. To the point the the inflammation and pain cripple me. Some days making it almost impossible to get out of bed. There are many days where I am out of bed and do things I need to do and have to silently hide the pain. Try not to show everyone what kind of pain I am really in. Grin and bear it. Because who likes a complainer?! I said it earlier and I say it again. Suck it up and deal with it. That is basically my motto in life. Sometimes a little tough love, even towards yourself is the only way you are going to get through a difficult patch. Even if that patchwork is big enough to fill an entire room. Crying isn’t going to do shit for me or anyone else for that matter. It isn’t going to make anything better by feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my own misery.

Keep on keeping on.























Drip, drop (Original Poem-Unfinished)

I stand alone in a room

Even though there are a million of other people

But possibly only 52

I feel the bead of sweat



From my hairline, it is about to fall

I realize that no one cares

Not only because no one notices

For even if they did

It doesn’t effect them

It doesn’t effect you

Carry on






Going off

Overstimulated to an undignified point

What to do, what to do

Be Yourself.




Still going off

The ones that no one can hear

Push it down, Push it down deep

Until they cannot see it in your eyes.


Smile, smile, smile

They won’t know it is fake





Smile anyway

Even when you want to cry

Wailing will get you no where

Stop acting like a child

Smile, just smile.


Blank Space.


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You know that song by Taylor Swift called Blank Space? Oh course you do. Who doesn’t. Well anyone that doesn’t live under a rock and has listened to American radio circuit in the past 5 years would have heard it. So in a way that was a rather vacuous question to even ask. The whole song is somewhat irrelevant other than these two lines that go about:

‘I’ve got a blank space

And I’ll write your name’

When I think about myself and my life at times I think about those two lines. It isn’t Taylor Swift or really even any person in particular that is saying this to me. It is life. Life is shouting it at me. Or rather it is hinting that I myself am the blank space and life or a life well lived has yet to write it’s name on me.

For this reason, I feel the drain of a lacking life. Filled with discontentment and unfulfilled…..anything. My children people point out. Yes, I have a vagina with a working and capable uterus. I was able to conceive and birth children. Raise them. And hopefully not do too much of a crappy job at it. But my children are human beings. Not things. So in my own warped way I do not see them as accomplishments because they are their own people. I very much delight in them and am a proud Mother. And could go on for a long time about how proud I am of them and how much they fascinate me.

But is that all I am good for?

A working Uterus.


When will the time come or will a time ever come where I do something that actually matters. That I am useful to the world and to the collective of society. Or damnit, how about just the people around me? I tell myself in my head that I am not a leech, that I work my butt off even though I’m not in a situation I very my desire. But do I? Am I just a leech? A parasite? Just feeding off of the goodness and strength of others. What if my reasons are just excuses. Perhaps I have been saying them for so long and living in them for so long I have actually started to believe them.

I tell myself that I do so much for others and try to be a good person. And I honestly believe I do. But why should someone be in the position that I am in and getting nowhere in life. 35 years and counting on this Earth and nothing of my life has any significant value or weight anchoring me to the world. Leaving some type of physical reminder or dent in this world.

Is the Universe trying to let me know I just suck? Sara, you fucking suck. And it is your own fucking fault.

I fail.

Even when I try. Even when I’m optimistic. Even when I make attempts. And try to do better I fail. No matter how good or kind or forgiving I am. How charitable I am. How giving I am. The Universe is telling me it doesn’t fucking matter because you still fucking suck and I’m not giving you a Goddamn thing. So just get used to it. If I [The Universe] don’t take it away from you, you will just inadvertently find a way to fuck it up. Destroy anything good, anything of value in your life like you normally do. All I have to do is sit back and watch.

I can’t make people happy. I can’t make my kids happy. My husband happy. My Mom happy. My Family in general. There is always something. And I always feel a cloud of judgment and disappointment. In one way or another. It is beginning to be too much. I’m tired of feeling like my life doesn’t really matter, but maybe that is just it. Maybe it just DOESN’T matter.

Ghost of a Memory (Original Poem)


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There is a moment early in the morning

When my eyes slowly open and I awake

But something has already opened inside of me

Something deep inside has stirred


Where have you gone?

What have I done?

Why do I feel the way I do?

How do I get back to that moment of you?

I fight between reality and what could have been

You, fading away

A ghost of a memory


I toss and turn

For you are a long lost dream

Something so sweet that was never meant to become true

As much as my dream pulls me back to you

Needing to touch and to feel

You are a thought

A Yearning


A ghost of a memory


Where have you gone?

What have I done?

Why do I feel the way I do?

How do I get back to that moment of you?

I fight between reality and what could have been

You, fading away

A ghost of a memory


Instinctively I wish to hold you closer

Wrap you in your velvet blanket

You know, baby blue

I place a kiss on your fragile forehead as I breathe you in

And as I do this you let out a soft sigh

I try to be strong, to not let you see that I’ve already began to cry

In the state of forcibly leaving a dream

Yet still not awake

I hurt.

I cry.

I ache.

Desperately seeking you while I am awake

Wishing things were different

Wishing that I could hold you

And that this was really your fate


Where have you gone?

What have I done?

Why do I feel the way I do?

How do I get back to that moment of you?

I fight between reality and what could have been

You, fading away

A ghost of a memory


Maybe in another life

Perhaps in another time

You will be something else

Besides a tear in my dreams

You won’t just be a ghost of a memory.

Fight the Dark.


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I’m not particularly talented or special. I am not bestowed gifts or abilities that are above and beyond the typical person. I am not thin. I’m not in great shape. I have a lot of health problems. I’m not good for a whole lot. I have physical problems that keep me from doing things I’d like to do. I have depression. I have anxiety. In a lot of ways I do not value myself as much as I should because I don’t feel there is much reason for me to place that much value upon myself. But there is one area that am confident (most of the time) in my ability to go and do my best. An area that I know I do a good job at. Am I perfect in that area? No. It is like a journey that never ends. There are twists and turns and obstacles I have to jump over, climb through and endure at times. But I believe I make my best effort. And the times that I am lacking I evaluate or try to at least, what I did wrong, and come back stronger to try to be better at it. And that area is Parenting. Being a Mother.

Being a Mother isn’t as easy and simple as being fertile and popping out a fetus into the world. It takes care. It takes understanding. Empathy. Sympathy. Sometimes pity. It takes patience. It takes love. It takes nurturing. It takes strength. A lot of strength. Not the physical kind. The mental and emotional kind. If you think you are strong, you know nothing. Absolutely know nothing until you become a parent. Every stage of life and development that your child or children go through come with their own challenges. You have to be mentally strong to be a good and effective parent. But there will be times that question your stability, your strength. Whether you are a mother of a free-spirit. Whether you are a parent of a child with Autism. Whether you are a mother or parent of a child that has some internal emotional issues.


There is going to be a time. A day. A moment. Or even a few months. A few years. Where you think you will fall apart. Where you think you aren’t going to make it. You might feel like you are drowning. Drowning. But there is no water. Drowning in all the emotions that feel like they are dragging you down with weights at both of your ankles, pulling you deeper and deeper into the emotional waters of anxiety, fear and depression. The good thing is that it is only temporary. It is temporary because you are a good parenting. A great one even. It is your job to make sure it only stays temporary. That you keep fighting the water, the darkness, the negative feelings weighing you down. It is also your job to unlock the weights on your child’s ankles so they can reach air once again. Even if that means adding the extra weights onto your ankles.

Rescue them from the darkness.

Sometimes being a parent means withstanding and enduring a pain that is like no other. They might not realize it in the moment, but one day they will thank you for everything that you did to help them elude the darkness. Even if it never said one day they will smile with sincerity. One day you will look at them, their eyes no longer filled with the darkness and melancholy that was once there. And that is thank you enough. Or at least it will be when it happens. So do not stop. Do not feel bad for feeling weak at times. For thinking you are drowning.

You are your child’s light, so keep fighting the dark.



A hurtful dream.


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The past week I have been feeling weird. Like something is looming over me. Something dark and perverse that is waiting to happen. I have had multiple re-occurring dreams of my husband cheating on me, that he is with another woman and happier without me. The Psychology side of me knows that there is more to dreams than what first appears. When you have a dream, or when I have a dream sometimes it is a premonition, meaning it is something that will actually happen. I have had multiple dreams that have came true. Unfortunately I never really know which ones those are until they come to pass and turn into reality.

There are dreams that when you have them they are so hurtful on first inspection and on first experience. It cuts deep because the people that are in them mean something very deep to you. So when something that could be reality or at least feels like reality in a dream happens it is hard to differentiate. In a way. When you wake up from a dream and you remember. You remember the way he looked at someone else with love in his eyes. More love than the way he looked at you. Or me, in this case. The way he kissed someone. With more passion than he had for you. Again, speaking about me. So you remember the dream when you wake up still feeling hurt, betrayed, sad.

Then as I stated earlier mentioning the Psychology side of my rational yet intricate thinking in regards to dreaming, sometimes there is more to a dream than what meets the eye at first. Sometimes dreams can have no meaning or a lot of meaning. If you think about how the brain processes information and how complex all our feelings and given information are it starts to make sense that sometimes are brains use a bit of reality, fantasy and our feelings and anxieties we may be experiencing. Using dreaming as a way to send us messages on how we may be feeling and sometimes possibly an answer to questions we didn’t know we had to begin with. Or sometimes leaving us with no answers, but just more questions.



There is a part of me inside that knows I have probably placed a burden on Ahmed’s life since re-entering it. Do I believe he loves me? Oh yes, I very much do. But with having the dreams I am having and being a rational thinking person I also know that he would probably be just as happier or happier with someone else with less complications. Someone that isn’t over 6,000 miles away and that he didn’t need to in the future support because of physical or medical issues. In a way that is what the dream was telling me. That if I stepped away his life would more likely be less stressful and happier in general. In the long term. In the beginning he might be upset about us but he’d probably be a lot happier with someone that could give him what he wants. Someone near him, Muslim, Egyptian, less complicated life, more similar cultural backgrounds, etc.

To be honest, I am not really sure as to what to do with that information. Besides feeling more down and sad about our relationship. And what would be better for him, even if it is worse for me. I feel like ever since we tried to make this work it has just been one stress after the other for him. He is happy to talk to me, and yes he does love me but I feel like he is also miserable. And I’m the thing that is making him that way. Perhaps he is just too noble and kind and faithful to admit to it. Or that could be my own insecurities talking, because he is 6,000 miles away. As much as he tries to make me feel wanted or special or loved, I know I am not special. There is nothing about me that is special or unique.

Must be nice.


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I hate the feeling you get when you feel so angry at someone for something that is out of their control. If you feel angry at someone in that type of way you aren’t really mad at them, you are mad about something else. Sometimes someone else. Sometimes even yourself.

My husband that lives in Egypt sent me a couple messages while he was out having fun with his friends. I was already annoyed because of the situation that had escalated with my youngest daughter. I was even more annoyed that he was sending me messages while he was out having a good time. Part of it is anger, part of it is envy. Internally, I shout, how DARE you have a good time while I am stuck at home day in and day out with the kids. Can he help the situation and that he cannot come over here yet? No, not really. But it still makes me angry. Because for the past 7 years I have been raising his daughter alone.




Always parenting. There are no days off. There are no vacation days. There are no sick days. Because even when you are sick you still have to get off your ass and be a parent to these lil monsters (respectively) called my children. Between raising the children on my own (only 1 being his, that’s why I say 7 years and not 12. He’s not to blame for my poor choices beforehand.), car accident, health problems, depression and feeling like I suffer from battered wife syndrome (humorously and sarcastically at the hands of living with my brother for several years). Between all of that and having ZERO friends yes it does make me angry when I’m stuck at home doing all the work trying to parent these children and in a way he gets a free pass to come and go when he wants. Besides work he has no concrete obligations. His time is his own. He can try to sympathize with how I feel but he will never empathize with how I feel because he has not been a parent in the realest sense of the word. Meaning dealing with both the conflicts and the joys. Lately being more conflicts than anything especially with a hormonal, emotionally unbalanced pre-teen in the house that has to go to therapy because she has daddy issues and is trying to shut the whole world out and trying not to feel anything. But that is a whole other story.

In all honesty, I lost most of my friends after I got pregnant with Samara. Which also led me to believe in realize that in all honesty I never had any true and reliable friends. It is a bit hurtful and painful to accept, but that is the truth. In every friendship that I have acquired, I had to do all the work or it would fall apart. I tell myself most of the time that I don’t want any friends because it is too much work, but if both parties were pulling their weight in a friendship then I’m sure it wouldn’t feel so much like working overtime and feel more like a common connection. So yes, it does make me upset, angry even. The fact that no one has valued me enough to treat me as a true friend. Am I not good enough? Have I done something to dishonor them or cause them to distrust me? No, not that I can see. Which knowing that fact it creates a heavier burden on my heart and soul, allowing depression to weigh me down even more. As if I didn’t have enough depression and anxiety problems. Now I can look back on the sad truth and tell myself that I was never good enough to be someone else’s friend. Outside of family, I have no friends. Family functions and living as a hermit in my home pretty much sum up my life at the moment, and a long time even before now.

So yes, I am glad my husband has friends but I also find it annoying. Because he is constantly going out to eat with a different friend, hanging out at his old work to visit his previous co-worker friends and occasionally going on fishing trips. Must be nice. That’s what I say sometimes. And instead of understanding for my situation it is normally met with defensiveness from his end. Him trying to justify why he is out with his friends or perhaps it has been awhile since he has seen this particular friend. I’m not asking that he doesn’t see his friend, just that he try to practice a little empathy and try to understand why I say things like that. Must be nice, sometimes it is said sarcastically, sometimes in humor, sometimes in annoyance but usually it is meant as a said reality because yes, it MUST BE NICE to be able to call so many people your friends. Or even one for that matter.

I always say to people that I’d rather have no friends than friends that are not really good quality friends. I do not go back on that statement. It is still true. But sometimes the truth can be lonely as well. I feel like I have so much more emotion to get out, that I should but I will funnel that into my novel writing later this evening or into my exercising. When I reach my physical limit and I feel like crying because of my back, but I need to get that work out and those steps in. Sometimes I just don’t want to talk about things. Ugly things that bother me. Sometimes I just need to numb them.




Do they make Benzocaine for feelings? I need some of that. Numb it up. Please and thank you.