261 Days

261 Days

261 Days

That’s how long it’s been since the last time I cried.

There have been a whole slew of things that probably should have resulted in tears.

  • Multiple occasions of my kid being the biggest asshole on the face of the Earth.
  • Dropped a 35 pound kettle bell on my foot
  • Every single episode of This Is Us
  • Several broken things in my house thanks to the asshole kid
  • Have you ever been called a bitch on your damn birthday because you won’t buy yet another vehicle for someone?
  • How about Mother’s day? That’s a great day to go completely unrecognized, and have the kid be in giant ass mode. Made it through that unscathed.
  • The freaking awesome guy I was kinda seeing started dating someone else exclusively. I definitely probably should have cried over that. Several other people did thanks to this post. 
  • “Thanks for the Christmas presents mom. Can I have the receipts so I can just get the money tomorrow. I’m going to my friend’s house now.”
  • Realizing that my $7000 in network health insurance deductible means another year of putting off some not really necessary, but not exactly optional either medical decisions.
  • Not having one single day off in 8 weeks
  • Finding the PERFECT house but not being able to even think about buying it because a 3 hour commute is just a tad much
  • Not sitting on bleachers sweating my ass off with the rest of the parents of the graduating class of 2017 because my kid dropped out of school

I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point. For 261 days, probably a record for someone who was born with 2 X chromosomes, I’ve been apparently completely dead inside. Well that ALL changed today.

It all changed because as I can see the light at the end of the 8 weeks without a day off tunnel, today I was “treated” to 2 hours of the meanest and most hateful things that have EVER been said to me. Two. Solid. Mf’n. Hours. I know better than to even think that I can defend myself in moments like this. That only fuels the spite. I sat there, and tried to keep it together until I couldn’t take it anymore. When a response was finally expected from me, I opened my mouth, and got about 2 words out before the shaky voice and tears took over. And once the tears took over, there were more tears, because I was so frustrated at myself for NOT being able to keep it together. I did the only thing I could do. I sat at my desk and composed myself enough to leave my office, and as I walked out the door, I answered the question “Are you ok” with the biggest lie a woman ever tells: “I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. I’m not even close to it. But I fixed that stupid crying girl with 1/2 of a xanax and 4 ounces of wine. I know, I know…you can’t mix that shit…I don’t care. It’s half of the very lowest dose, and not enough wine to do anything.

Congratulations, you broke me. Not many people can say that. Usually I’m the one breaking myself. I should buy you a trophy. I hope it was memorable, because I know without a doubt where I stand now, and this is not going to happen again. All of those things you said just went in to a bigger, stronger wall, and the next 261 days are going to be a breeze.


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