Pack it in

Today I want to give up. I harbor escapist fantasies and chastise myself. I should have married him when I was twenty-one. Maybe we wouldn’t have made it, or maybe we could have grown up together. And this is not even about him. This is about having a stupid job where I should absolutely shine, but still can barely keep up, for whatever reason. It’s about being in debt and garnished and not knowing how I will pay rent next month. And it’s about how I still continue to buy and eat food like an absolute addict. It’s about how life is hard and disappointing and I want to lean on someone, and God is so hard for me to trust in. It’s about how every fucking thing I do turns out to be about a million times harder than it should have been. It’s about no ability to rest.

I…..

What? I am okay. I have to be; I’m a mom.