I didn’t think I would use this blog because I’m no writer, but I worry I will explode if I don’t have some outlet to write out my frustrations. That or I may smother my husband in his sleep (just joking).
I hate my life. I hate that I hate my life because I have an amazing life. I have a roof over my head, (too much) food in my belly, I’m nice and warm and toasty, and I have a husband who loves me. But I’m still angry. I’m angry that I’m 26 with nothing to show for it. I am a loser who is only qualified to work at freaking Subway and various other food-related establishments. My dream, my goal, is to be a nurse working in pediatrics. I would already be one if I hadn’t gotten married at 23 and moved across the world. And I should be grateful for that, I spent three years living in Europe, something most people only dream of, and I complain because I wasn’t able to continue my schooling there. I want to help people. I want to help animals. I want to leave this world a little bit better than when I came into it. But we move around so much that I never know where to begin in a new place. I couldn’t do much in Germany because I didn’t speak the language and never knew what was going on unless it was something the government wanted us to know about so they printed up flyers in English. I am angry that I feel so depressed that I don’t know what, or how, to start changing. I’m going back to school in January which makes me very happy. It would have been August, but even though I filled out every form I needed to, sent out copies of everything I needed to send out, I forgot to turn in our 2013 tax information (even though it was included in the Pell grant I applied for) and by the time I turned it in, it was two weeks until term started and they told me it would take six to eight weeks to process. Bastards. I wanted to apply to the nursing program in January, but now the earliest I can apply is next fall. I will be 27. I want to be a nurse at LEAST by the time I’m 30 but we’ll see. These programs are, after all, highly competitive.
I’m angry that I’ve gained weight, and I’m angry that I cried this morning (yes, I’m a grown woman) because I couldn’t find anything to wear that fit me and made me feel pretty. It’s recently gotten cold out and I haven’t needed my winter clothes since way earlier this year. My husband asked me about them, where are all my pretty clothes that I’ve been wearing the past few winters, and I told him I outgrew them. My pants won’t even go above my thighs. Talk about humiliation. I’m angry that my husband thinks clothes are cheap and wants to give me $40 to get a new wardrobe. I’m angry that when I go to the thrift store because sometimes you can find cute clothes that don’t have spaghetti stains or look like they’ve been through the washer 500 times, my husband gets mad because it makes us look poor. We ARE poor, because he has a million hobbies that must come above his wife feeling pretty in her clothes because she no longer feels she’s pretty enough by her body alone. Because his wife doesn’t have a job (I had one, before we moved) and hasn’t been able to find one yet so that’s her fault, she can buy what she wants when she gets a job.
I’m angry that he can buy a $20 pair of cargo pants and a $15 nice collared shirt at Kohl’s and look handsome as a devil, but my jeans are $30 and my shirts are $20. But wait, that’s over my $40 budget for clothes. Let me point out that I am NOT a fashionista. I have no sense of style. I can appreciate if an outfit looks nice, but send me into a department store to buy a new outfit and leave me for an hour, I will still be standing near the entrance with a deer in the headlights look. I just don’t know how to pair clothing up. I didn’t even know how to layer until my early 20s, and I still don’t exactly get it. Sometimes I don’t even feel like a girl. Sometimes I wish I was born a guy. Except I really like to wear dresses, and I don’t think that would go over well as a dude. My secret? Dresses are pretty, comfortable, and it’s only one piece of clothing to worry about. If I find a cute dress that’s modest, comfortable, and pretty, I will wear it out within two weeks. It’s much easier to throw on a dress than find a nice top and bottom that go well together.
I never wear make up (I did today, because I was desperate to feel prettier and make up was the only thing I had that could help. I just have concealer and lip gloss. I can’t find my blush because I haven’t used it since February when we went to a military ball.) It all started in my head as a teenager that if guys can be gorgeous without make-up, then I don’t need to spend our precious little money on make-up to be pretty either. But to be honest I only told myself that because we couldn’t afford it. And now I worry that I’ve gone so long without it, people will think I’m “trying too hard” or something else that’s unreasonable if I start wearing it now at 26. Yes, I know I’ve got mental issues. Don’t get me started on those…
I’m angry we were in Austin yesterday, a city that’s an hour away from where we live, and they had a World Market there, one of my favorite stores. I wanted a bottle of “Dachshund” wine, and they only have it there. Because I love dachshunds. We have two of them. I don’t even drink wine, I just wanted to display the bottle just in case people didn’t know how obsessed I am with dachshunds. The wine was $10.99. My husband said we couldn’t afford it. He said we couldn’t afford to go anywhere else, do anything else that I’d like to do, because he just spent $100 at a beer supply store because his newest hobby (I could kick the person that offered to sell him their starter kit for $20 last week) is making his own beer. So we drive home. We stop at a cigar store because he needs cigars. He spends $40. I asked him where this money came from. He laughed and said he always has cigar money. It’s funny because he always has cigar money, he always has model tanks/airplanes/ship money, he always has beer brewing money, he always has model train money. I’d like some curtains because we have a side door that faces a busy pool and I’d like a little bit of privacy. We don’t have the money, that’s silly. Can I buy some pictures to hang on the wall? No, we really don’t need that. Can we spay our dog so she stops bleeding all over the house for two weeks every six months? No, our male is neutered, she can wait. Or my favorite…the dogs need their heart-worm medicine, let’s buy it so a mosquito doesn’t bite them and they die a painful, terrible death because worms are literally living, breeding, and birthing their young in their hearts. No, we get paid in a week, let’s buy it then so we can do something else with our money now. (Don’t worry, I fought him on that and now the dogs are upset that we shove pills down their throat every month, but it’s for their own good).
I hate that my needs and wants are placed second to his. I hate that he makes me feel like a shit wife because I have been so depressed I don’t keep the house as clean as it should be. I hate that he makes my job of cleaning harder by being the most slobbiest, filthiest person I have ever met (and my mom cleans houses for a living so I’ve seen some crazy stuff). I hate that I clean my kitchen, work so hard on it, and when I wake up in the morning he is brewing beer all over the place, spilling beer guts on the floor, and then when he’s done he walks away to terrorize the living room and I’m left wondering why I even try. I have no idea how mothers with young children do it. I would be terrible at being a mother, I can’t even keep up with my husband’s mess.
I hate that my father is always asking me about going to the dentist. See, we had dental insurance, but after I got my teeth cleaned and got some bad teeth taken out, my husband cancels the policy because “we don’t need it anymore.” I guess as long as I’m not in pain, I don’t need regular dental check-ups. My father says my husband should take it more seriously, this is a big deal, and he needs to take care of me. I hate that I need to be taken care of, I was suppose to be a nurse, making good money by now and living in my own apartment near the children’s hospital I had always dreamed of working at, still close to my family, but with my own life. Now I live over 1,000 miles away. I should be done with school but I fell in love and by my own choice, put my education on hold to move away. I don’t regret it, but I wish my husband supported me more. See how much pain it causes me that I’m worthless right now. Make me feel like it was worth it. But no, I am pressured to get a job, because we need the money. But don’t forget, in a month, he wants to go back home for two weeks. I’m not stupid, what employer in their right mind would hire me and say it was no problem to leave for 2 weeks when I’ve barely been working there a month? I’ll just throw that in there at my interview, I’m sure I’ll get a call back when they’ve got hundreds of teenagers applying for the same position.
I also have fears, anxieties, that I have kept hidden from everyone except my husband until recently. They came out when I couldn’t lie about them or hide them any more and I was put into therapy. It didn’t help. It made it worse. I am more fearful and anxious now than I ever was before. I was put down. No one understood my fears. They thought I should grow up, that they’re not a big deal, that I’m a bad girl for having these fears. But it is a big deal to ME and I just wish someone would tell me that…”I understand your fears. They’re normal. Now, let’s take a few steps to try and make you unafraid.” If I knew what those steps were, I’d take them myself. But no. I am told I am irrational and my fears don’t make sense (duh) and I should get over them, but I’m not told how. The one good thing about moving? I left all that behind (or so I thought). I thought I could make a clean slate here. Go back to my lies, and no one would ever know the truth. Don’t go back into therapy because they will want to know why, and I will have to tell them why I was in therapy before, and I will face the same unhelpful comments again that made me feel so bad. Don’t ask for birth control pills, because then they will know. I didn’t. I don’t. But I still got a call last week that messed my whole day up, my whole mind frame, and I’m scared again. Because my slate technically wasn’t wiped clean when we left our last city. But I won’t do anything about it, because I am weak.
I want to be a child again.
And I hate that I love my husband so, so, SO much, because despite everything I said here, he is a wonderful person. He loves me. I know he does. He tells me all the time. He is fiercely protective over me, which I also love. He is not controlling, he just knows I like to feel safe after a shaky childhood and that the world scares me. I forgive him so easily. I clean up his messes. I make dinner, bring him a plate. He doesn’t ask me to, I just like to feel useful. I wash his clothes for the next morning and hang them up on the hook on the door so he wakes up, sees that his uniform is ready, and he can go back to sleep. He really is quite a scatter brain. I love that about him, though. I just don’t love his messiness. I love that I’m the one who can help him find where he left his hat, his jacket, his one PT sneaker because he has one in his hand and can’t find the other one. I love that when he needs the scissors, the tape, the measuring glass, that little gasket thing that I had no idea what it was for but I remembered exactly where I put it when I unpacked because my mind just remembers little things like that. I really feel like we complete each other. Because when I am afraid, he is there for me. And I am there for him, though his problems are more along the lines of what kind of soap goes in the dishwasher. No, even though dish detergent is for washing dishes in the sink, you can’t put it in the dishwasher. I know it’s weird, honey, and now there are soap bubbles all over the floor, but I just laugh and smile at you because this is one thing I can do right…even if I don’t do it all the time.
I was so upset when I started writing this. I was so full of anger, self-loathing, and hatred that I forgot how much I have to be thankful for. I have a great life. I will get better. I will get over this depression. I will keep my house clean while I search for a part-time job to bring in extra cash, and I WILL get accepted into a nursing program and I will help people, even if I’m 30. It’s really not that old. I will feel better about myself, because I only feel like I have worth if I am doing something good for someone else. I’m already feeling better now, just getting some of my anger out, even if no one reads this. I actually hope no one reads this, that would be really embarrassing.