Doing your best while you die inside…

I’m honestly lost for words right now. My post is 13 hours later than it should be. Than I’d like it to be.

All I can think about are song lyrics. Specifically the ones blasted at egregious volumes last night on my drive home from therapy.

Which, if you’re wondering, did not go well.

I don’t know why it surprises me.

I spent a large percentage of the 2 hours swallowing an emotional breakdown/outrage/whatever the actual fuck it was.

Apparently a lot of extraordinarily triggering things have come up for me the last few weeks. Starting with last week in therapy, when this whole shit show began.

So yes. I was defensive. Why wouldn’t I be? What’s my alternative, be less strong? Be less politely aggressive in my standing firm on who I am when it comes specifically to parenting?

Shit.

A whole lot of words that sounded a fuck ton like “I don’t care” and “it is what it is” came out of my mouth last night.

And I’ll say it all day long. And I’ll mean it. Because I have to. I HAVE to not care. When it comes my kids. When it comes to their needs. I’ll fucking tear the world apart making sure their needs are met. And it does not matter how I feel about it personally or emotionally.

As if last night wasn’t unexpectedly difficult enough, tomorrow morning will probably be worse.

If you remember back to last Monday night, that was when I was…using my own words here, confronted and given a list of demands that I needed to immediately agree upon (despite some logistical impossibilities that I needed to work out) or else my kids care would be jeopardized. I didn’t respond well to it, because…you’re threatening my kids wellbeing?

And no the fuck you will not.

Well, tomorrow morning is my follow up conversation with this person. Which I asked for.

I originally was not worried about it, as I planned on just simply giving her what she wants or needs or asked for or whatever.

My feelings do not matter. It does not matter what this person thinks of me. As a person. Or a parent. Or a wife. I don’t care. She is not my support system.

However, my children love her. They have a relationship with her. And she is what is best for them.

And so I will fight.

I will fight for my kids.

Because my feelings do not matter. And I’m okay with it.

It is what it is. And I do not care.

It’s a mad, mad world, tell me not to be so mad about it
It’s a sad, sad world, tell me that I ought to laugh about it
Funny thing is I’m the one with the cool head
Everything’s fine if you pretend
Bless this mess, hallelujah, but I’m about to lose it

What are you trying to fix me for?
Maybe I’m broken but I’m not sure
Am I depressed or am I just bored?
Apathy and irony, post modern anxiety
Tell me you’re okay, yeah, what’s that like?
Rose tinted glasses, that must be nice
Doing your best while you die inside
Apathy and irony, post modern anxiety