I used to be a writer.  It was always my essays that were chosen to be read in school, in Spanish or English.  Now my Spanish is limited to "I'll have the numero tres" at Taco Bell and my writing sucks.  I'm fairly confident that every child that made itself nice and cozy in my body took all of my thinking skills so I'm lucky NOT to be in the corner drooling.  However, if you listen to David, I do that anyway.  Don't get me wrong.  I complain about them, but I do have 4 beautiful kids.  They just drive me bonkers.  If it wasn't for my medication, I WOULD be drooling in the corner and rocking from the lack of brain function.

 

 

I imagine myself as Taylor Swift but with less angst.  I have lots to be angry about but less good looking men in my past.  My three relationships are hardly worth Grammy nominations and I definitely don't have the goods and the beauty of the singer.  I don't know who that leaves me as except the fat mom who at one time had high hopes for herself and now sits at home and wonders where the hell it all went wrong.

 

I am unhappy.  There.  I said it.  It's been brewing inside me for years but I've never actually written it out.  I'm the Crazy Girl in my family.  My husband has to divvy up medication every night like a psychiatric nurse and every day I take those pills and hate myself even more.  All I ever wanted was to be a stay at home mom and now, given the chance, all I do is moan about the situation.  I can't even go back to work because I take almost 50 pills a day for my mental conditions.  It's a little outrageous.  I really am Crazy Girl.

There is a house here in Arizona.  It's beautiful and huge.  But it's a shell.  It was never completed because some poor couple put all their retirement money into building it and then the construction company went bankrupt.  They lost $750,000 in the deal and had no retirement left.  I can't imagine. But I'm that house.  On the outside, I'm *mostly* structurally stable, but on the inside, well, that's a different story.  I feel like that shell and I have empathy for that house.  He and I have a lot in common.

This is my blog and I can say what I want, right?  Well, here goes.  I had a hysterectomy in March.  At the time, I thought it was the best decision I could possibly make.  Now I'm starting to regret that choice.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not wanting another baby but I've been in such a funk since it's happened that, well, that medication is truly necessary.

In every marriage, there are good times and bad.  We all know that.  It's in marriage vows, right? You vow to honor and cherish your spouse in those times.  Well, let's just say that this has not been the year for David and I.  We SHOULD be happy.  But we can barely stand to look at each other.  I don't know how we got off track, but if we don't get back in tune together, I might have to learn to play the guitar and channel my inner Taylor Swift. My mantra is that things can only improve.  Hey, Taylor Swift always bounces back, right?  This was our 13th year of marriage and 13 is an unlucky number.  Year 14 is one month away and I imagine it filled with unicorns and rainbows because things WILL be better or you'll be hearing some really awful song lyrics that will make you cringe and wonder if they have put me on way too much of something.  I wonder how Taylor Swift does it?