Chicken, Fried

I cry most days now, pretty regularly.  When I am not crying I am focusing much of my energy trying to NOT cry.  I got fried chicken at the grocery store today and ate until I felt sick.  I was doing pretty well on my healthy eating routine.  Hey, just because one is depressed, doesn't mean one has to indulge in an unhealthy lifestyle.  Shawn and I had words last night.  I don't remember a lot of it.  I was fairly drunk at the time.  I am a little drunk right now.  I do faintly remember waving my hand in a circle and saying something like, "It's all about yooooouuuuuuu...."  Though I cannot be sure.

I was going to ask at my yearly exam if the gyno would prescribe me a mild, inexpensive antidepressant.  My application ran out with the women's health program so I had to reapply.  This meant getting two months worth of birth control and sending a BUNCH of forms and documentation proving Shawn's income as he has been self employeed. 

I pay taxes.  I pay for young women to get a pap smear & free birth control.  Two sixteen year old girls (who do not yet pay taxes) walked in while I was at the clinic.  No problem for them.  They should be spreading herpes right about......now.

However I am required to send a huge envelope of papers to Austin in order to (hopefully) be seen and continue on my birth control, which has done a lovely job of controlling my 9 days periods and severe cramps.  It has also saved the state money as I have not become pregnant & asked the state to give me WIC and food stamps and free housing.  I pay taxes and therefore I am saving other tax payers money by not having children, all by my own choice.  If only everyone were so vigilant. 

I am a little concerned though.  I have no idea what a gyno visit would cost me out of pocket with no insurance.  I am hoping that whoever is looking over our tax return from last year will be just as confused as I am when I look at it that they'll just pass my application.  That's pretty much what happened last time.  It's not as though Shawn made a lot of money last year, nor is he making a ton right now.  I feel if we are working so much with so little to show for it and I still have to stay in my nightmarish hot, dirty job, then the least the state could do is give my birth control with a substantial discount.  But who am I?  I do not have 7 kids, nor a history of back or heart problems like most of the fakers out there.  meanwhile, everyone who actually deserves disability waits for 3 years before anyone ever glances at their application.  But I digress....

I started an essay about my uncle in order to enter a contest where the top prize is $2000 to be delivered next March.  I started it.  Then I lost interest.

I have decided that if we are ever rolling in ridiculous amounts of money that I would like to seek out & pay for clear skin.  I'd like to take up jogging.  I wanna be one of those women who jogs every morning.  I want to learn to paint and I have always wanted to take boxing lessons.  Yes, boxing.  Maybe if I can hit something with gloved fists, I won't cry so much.

Maybe.

Black

I thought it might help if I started wrinting.  I don't think so.  I feel trapped.  Stuck.  Unmoving.  Trapped, more than anything.  I cry a lot these days.  Most days.  I spend a lot of time trying not to cry.  Angry because I should be allowed to cry, to release some of this anguish.  I do not think I have ever been as unhappy as I am now.  For months.

I do not know what to do.  I am not where I want to be.  I am not who I want to be.  I sometimes wish I were dead.  I sometimes wish I was someone else in a different time & place. 

I'm tied of living like this.  Living?  This is not living.  This is dying slowly in a hidden manner.  I cannot share it.  I want to be alone.  I want to live my own life, to make my own decisions.  But I am trapped.  Bound.  Shackled forever.  I cannot change any of this.  I am a slave to all fo this.  I need to find a way out but I cannot find the opening.  I don't know where God has gone.  He's on vacation I think, at least from me.  Why do I still ask him for help?  He doesn't seem to hear me, or care or notice m,aybe even.  I am unsuyre.  I can't talk to anyone about this.  If I talk to God about it I may as well talk tot he wall.  I get no answers, no reassurances.  Nothing.

Still trapped.  I hate this, I hate all of this and everything that I ahve to do.  I want to be free.  Why can't i just be free?