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The Beginning Post

I am ready to call it quits. This lifestyle is just too hard and the God’s honest truth is that I cannot handle the enormous amount of responsibility on my own. And I cannot stop believing that I shouldn’t be the only one carrying this burden. I am a good person. I have helped other people all of my life. And regardless of what actually manifests in my actions, my intentions are always of the purest nature. Despite doing everything I can to live up to the expectations of the higher power I believe makes the cosmos spin, I am spinning my wheels as to why I am left living in a filthy and rundown and broken house, that has no running water and no clean dishes and no way to clean anything myself, filled with people who want to sit on their ass all day and play video games and fight tooth and nail about why one is right and the other is wrong and why no one should have to share what they don’t want to share while volatilely demanding that I take care of them to their very detailed specifications around the clock with no real time for myself because with four people and a baby “owning” all of my time, someone is ALWAYS expecting something. Yet no one ever expects to have to help me find some time to feel good about myself and the endless amount of effort I am constantly putting forth.

At 6am this morning I woke to a crying baby who was hungry. And I got mad. I got fired up. And I became resolved. My not even one month old child had to learn what it was like to “go hungry” because in life you don’t get to eat when you want to, you don’t get to use your voice to tell people when you need help, and you certainly don’t get what every god damn person on this face of the planet deserves without having to pay a god damn dime for it. And for something like thirty minutes I raged, slammed a bedroom door, marched downstairs to sleep while the baby screamed, only to worry that the baby might be suffocating in the bed I left him alone in because his father is a worthless fuck who stayed up all night playing video games and would be a useless lump that sleeps on the floor and so would never wake to realize the baby was dying right next to him. And so despite wanting to carry on the lesson, I drug myself back upstairs to console the precious angel who doesn’t deserve to die because life is hard and he has to learn how hard it is before he grows up living and believing a lie.

Yeah, I woke up a bitch who felt she needed to teach a very important life lesson to a fucking newborn baby. All because the circumstances I am living in make it seem deadly important to instill early on in their developmental years that because my child was born “poor” to a mentally unwell mother and to a father who even while being present and in the home 24 hours a day cannot manage to get off his fat lazy ass until I lose my mind (seclusion starts) and then at that point he charges into the room and starts yelling (not helpful) about rules (that I don’t agree with) and how people don’t follow them (because I don’t enforce them) and threatens to spank them (my guilt trip starts) with a belt when they fall out of line (bullshit grownup tactics to make people “listen”) and then comes back to rant about how frustrating children are (my irritation at his “audacity” begins) and how this needs to be done and that needs to happen or else they are never going to change (my rage bubbles) while somehow failing to ever implement “this” or “that” because of all the ass-sitting he does that takes up the majority of his time (my rage boils). Because of my son’s poor unfortunate luck to be born into THAT family, he will never get the food he needs, the education he deserves, or the life he dreams of (my desire to live ceases to exist).

AND THAT PISSES ME THE FUCK OFF. Why should a newborn baby’s life be ruined all because this world is so shitty and unwilling to help people who actually need help, who REALLY don’t want to need help, and who are willing to INSANELY work their asses into an early grave to avoid needing help?

The answer is it shouldn’t. But yet here I stand ready to give my newborn son up for adoption because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I cannot give him the life he should have. And the only reason why I cannot give it to him – GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING MONEY.

I fucking hate this world and everyone in it that spends their life working for the dollar and never thinking to spread the wealth around to those who are completely incapable of valuing money the same way and who take far more PRIDE in and appreciate things like love, happiness, and peace. For valuing those “crazy” ideals above the all-mighty fucking dollar, I am destined to live like a poor fucker, covered in filth and famine, and plagued to be party to a miserable existence.

GO FUCK YOU ASSHOLES WHO THINK YOU ARE DOING IT “RIGHT” BECAUSE YOU HAVE A BANK ACCOUNT THAT SUPPORTS YOUR LIFESTYLE.

Let’s see how fast your tune changes when you have nothing to pay your way and nothing to help you over the hump and no one that gives a damn to send a drop your way. And while I say that, I know full well I cannot make anything karmically awesome happen to all those assholes because once again – I am just the worthless fuck who deserves to starve to death in a dump because I want a happy family more than I want a full bank account.

Well God damn me to Hell.  Oh wait, that’s right — I AM ALREADY LIVING IN FUCKING HELL.

There is nothing worse than having absolutely everything you desire, everything you want in life, and everything you absolutely beyond a shadow of a doubt NEED TO BE HAPPY and not being able to enjoy it even a little bit.

Why can’t I enjoy it? Because I live in a world full of people who are so concerned with “their way” that they never think about those who never get a chance to have a thought towards living “life”, let alone living life “their way”.

And to that end, once again I wish I could kill myself. I wish someone would just drop a bomb on me and my family so we will all be out of our misery. And why do I say drop a bomb on my whole family seeing as I am the only one actively wishing for death? Before you lose your mind, I don’t want my family to die. I just feel strongly that the only way I would ever get peace of mind from my family is to actually be dead in a grave. Otherwise they will demand I keep working, long after my mind threw in the towel, my brain stopped saying I should walk away because I ignored it for so long, my heart broke from never being given the love I so freely share with others, and my body has wasted away into nothing but an emaciated sack of skin and bones. How do I know that? Because I am that emaciated sack of skin and bones and those lazy fuckers are still demanding I do all the work to pull the weight of supporting this family.

So why bomb them all?

My husband says he values my life more than his own. If I die – how will he continue on? I’m figuring if I die, he will find himself a miserable death because he will have no one to cook for him or make him get up off his lazy ass. Easier to bomb him into oblivion than allow him to waste away into nothing. Then there’s my daughters who were honest enough to admit they would want to go to heaven if Mommy and Daddy went there while they were still children. I would hate to die and have them spend the rest of their life wishing they were dead. I know how awful begging for death every second is and so feel like including them in my death would be something akin to a merciful death versus the long-drawn out march to death everyone on Earth faces.

Yet knowing how much better off they would be in death, I still will never bring myself to end their lives because I don’t know what they’re capable of accomplishing on their own brand of “own” and so I would hate to prematurely take away their opportunity to “right the ship” and “change what is” so we can all enjoy “what’s to come”.

I hate that I am so desperately despairing.

Patience would prefer to know if I was going to die long before it happens because she would want to make the most of every moment we had left together. It broke my heart even more when she told me that and so I felt obligated by honesty to tell her that I spent every moment of my looking for death, hoping that in that moment I would die. I told her how I work myself beyond the point of sanity because I never stop hoping I will push my body too far and it will quit on me without me having to do anything more than “work myself to death”. I wanted to tell her that I drive like a reckless fool, take rides from strangers, and put my self into risky situations because I am BEGGING the universe to wipe me off the face of the earth but felt she was too young to handle such a ridiculous way to live life.

And sadly I told her that every day I curse the name of God, tell him how much I hate him, and how awful of a God he is for making this planet this shitty with nothing short of raging hatred in the endless hope he will smite me for being so “blasphemous”.

AND YET HERE I FUCKING STAND. GOD DAMN IT ALL. MIDDLE FINGER TO YOU GOD. YOU ARE A WORTHLESS FUCK WHO DOESN’T SEEM TO GIVE A FUCK ABOUT HIS “CREATIONS” AND WILL NEVER RECEIVE A DROP OF RESPECT FROM ME UNTIL YOU MAKES SOME FUCKING CHANGES ON “YOUR” GOD-FORSAKEN PLANET AND USE YOUR “ALMIGHTY POWER” TO STOP PEOPLE FROM ACTING LIKE INHUMAN-ASSHOLES.

I just want to live in a clean house with clean food and clean clothes with my family and be allowed to be happy by raising people who respect the value of life by working to create a life worth living that is full of love, respect, and above all common decency moved by common sense.

I never imagined how hard something so simple would be to bring to fruition. Nor that so many people would actively work against someone willing to do it all by herself if people would just stop making so many ridiculous demands on life.

And rather than keep fighting for something that won’t happen because I can’t do it alone, I beg for death and yet keep going through the motions because I have children who don’t deserve to have their dreams and lives crushed because they dream of having their mother to walk them through a happy life. I can’t do that to them.

And so I continue on in my Life on the Lump.

What a joy it is to be alive…..

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