Self-loathing

Anyone else feeling the hate today? My first 500 words.

I fucking hate myself today. I hate my chubby, aching body, my new 40-something stomach pooch that hangs off me like a fleshy glacier, the way the skin on my face is starting to fall, aging me tremendously. And suddenly. I hate my fucking face and my tired, sunken, bloodshot eyes. It’s hard to look in the mirror on days like this, for a number of reasons. I used to be quite beautiful. Now it takes hours to almost pull off pretty. I used to glow with excitement and hope, now I appear stony and bitter.

I hate my shitty perspective on life today, and over the last few days. I’m mad at the world, at Covid and the snow, at my kids, at my husband, but mostly — entirely — at myself. I hate how much I doubt myself and live so small, in my shell and in my head. I want to do something all my own, and how awesome that would be if it involved writing. But I get in my own way, all day, everyday. I stop myself before I ever really start, doubting I have any true talent, that anyone would enjoy reading my words. (Are you enjoying this?) I start to take a giant leap forward, into the world, then drag myself back 10 lonely, defeated steps.

I hate how much I suck with money. I admittedly put my head in the sand and don’t want to have to budget and think about every dollar. We don’t spend frivolously, but it’s somehow outside our means. And it pisses me off. Why can’t I just be a grown up like everyone else and follow a budget? Wait an extra week or month to buy something we can certainly live without in the meantime. No, I want it now, because I’m a child. And an addict.

Speaking of children, I feel like the shittiest mom. Since winter break, which totaled 2 weeks home together, my kids have been to school a total of 4 days, and it’s almost February. The new semester started with a week of snow days, and then we had a week in Florida planned. Florida sent one of us home with Covid so we’ve been quarantined for yet another week… and I just can’t think of a thing to do with my kids. We are all stir crazy; they just want to stare at phones and tablets and, quite frankly, so do I. It’s fucking cold out, and today all I hear outside is the sloshy drip, drip of wet snow melting in the just-above-freezing temperatures.

I hate my brain and the way it’s programmed to see and think the worst. I’m sick of the depression and anxiety and ADHD and trauma brain and general sucking at life.
And I’m tired. So fucking tired. Of being this way, living this way, sometimes of living. Of busting my ass to change, over and over, and always finding myself back at square one. Sad, hopeless, curled up in my bed, under a weighted blanket, under a dark cloud, waiting for tomorrow.