The journey begins.

So, here’s the thing: I’m sick and tired of not living the best life I can, of not building the best life I can for my family. It’s ridiculous really, because I can see how easy it is to make changes that will improve my life. Simple changes. I’m not talking about earth shattering, life altering, monumental moves here. I mean simple things that there is no reason for me not to be doing. Things that I tell myself every day that I am going to do. “I’ll do them tonight.” Then tonight gets pushed to tomorrow, and tomorrow of course never comes. Not ethereal, amorphous things either. Concrete things like marketing my business, putting in a bit of extra time to earn some extra cash flow, or even taking my kids to the park, ffs.

I know it’s stupid. I know so much of what I need to do start incrementally getting to a better place, and yet I keep self destructing. My children, E and D, have a roof over their head, food in their bellies and a good support network of people that love them. I love them more than anything. Yet I yell more than I should. I say things I shouldn’t. I scare them. It breaks my heart. They deserve better. And it shouldn’t be so hard to be better, to give them better. They’re so worth it, so why am I still failing?

This is going to be messy. This is going to be my outlet instead of the self destructive crap I’ve been doing for too long. I’ll cut myself down. I’ll build myself up. I’ll hold myself accountable. I’m throwing both money and health down the drain every day and it needs to stop. It needs to stop now. Not another day.

I’m sick of looking in the mirror and feeling nothing but hatred, loathing, and such deep disappointment. I want, for once, the smile on my face to genuine. I want to know what it’s like to feel genuinely proud of myself, to believe to genuinely agree when somebody tells me I’m a good mom, to feel truly successful in my life, rather than semi-successful at maintaining a facade of success. I don’t want to be ashamed of myself anymore. 

I don’t know if I can ever stop feeling ugly, inside and out. It’s been the constant narrative for so long, internal and external, that I don’t know if I can change it, but I have to try. I have to try because I can’t go on feeling the way that I do now, and because suicide is not an option. Walking away is not an option. I gave up the right to those selfish choices when I became a mother. It’s time to give up the other selfish choices as well.

Truth be told, I’m terrified. More than anything I think I’m terrified of stopping the self-destructive habits only to find out that my ugliness truly is soul deep, and not something that can be corrected by making lifestyle changes. What if I really am as terrible a person as I feel? What if hatred and shame is not a warped vision of myself, but what I really should be feeling not just about what I’ve done and am doing, but about who I am, deep down? What if I stop doing all these shitty things only to find out that I’m a shitty person through and through? Then what?

At least now I can point to external reasons. I can tell myself, “I act like this because I do that.” But what if it’s not true? What if I make all these changes and still hate myself? Then what do I have left? What I give up all of my escapes and instead of finding freedom I end up more trapped than ever, more miserable than ever? What happens if I lose this last hope, the one that’s led me here to the point where I’m saying, “But if I change, things maybe can get better?” Do I just keep the mask on, keep pretending, keep hating myself and keep plodding along until someday, somehow it finally comes to an end? At what point do I say, “Yes. The reality is my children really would be better off without me in their lives?”

Right now I’m a fuck-up, and I need to change that, but I’m afraid that being a fuck-up is better than being what’s underneath. I’m so scared to find out that it’s not the things I’m doing that make me feel worthless, but who I am. True or not, I need to face it. I need to try. I need to find out. But damn, that question, what if it’s worse, is just so awful. What if I’m running away from myself because I should be? What if everyone else should be running away from me, too? 

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