Good question! I ask myself that a lot nowadays! I can honestly say I am not sure. I look in the mirror and I see a stranger. I hear myself speak and wonder who said that. I feel like a stranger to myself. Why is that? I am wondering if I ever knew myself and wondering if anybody ever does. Is this some bullshit brought on by media that we need to "find" ourselves and "know" ourselves or do we really need those pieces to feel satisfied.
Last few months I lie in bed looking up at my ceiling listening to my husband snore and wonder about myself. I think this sounds very selfish. I am queen of putting myself last. I feel guilty or get grief from others when I do take care of myself, yet not one single person in this house has feelings of guilt when they do their own thing, even when it interferes with someone else's plans. Basically, I feel like I don't exist in my own home most of the time. I am here to wait on people, take care of their needs, and not expect that for myself. My husband says that is all in my head because he "let's" me do whatever I want without complaint. True, he does not verbally complain. Just passively aggressively punishes.
Who the fuck am I? I feel like I have opened Pandora's box and I am afraid to peek in and I know I can't close it. I am a confused mess with a bottle of wine and no one to share it with. I never wanted to admit this but I am going to just to get it off my chest. I am a desperate housewife and I am friends with desperate housewives and I honestly think we are all fooling each other about those fakey fake smiles we wear.
Otherwise we wouldn't sit around and dream about pool boys, road trips without our husbands, and wish we had something else going on in our lives besides being a Mrs. X with absolutely no job skills and no confidence about the future.
What a life! No prospects, no confidence, lonely, lost, and used up. You know what, I feel like a book that was left in the rain and all the writing washed away leaving ink blots and the blank book was picked up by someone that cannot write! I guess it will be a picture book for now.
Last few months I lie in bed looking up at my ceiling listening to my husband snore and wonder about myself. I think this sounds very selfish. I am queen of putting myself last. I feel guilty or get grief from others when I do take care of myself, yet not one single person in this house has feelings of guilt when they do their own thing, even when it interferes with someone else's plans. Basically, I feel like I don't exist in my own home most of the time. I am here to wait on people, take care of their needs, and not expect that for myself. My husband says that is all in my head because he "let's" me do whatever I want without complaint. True, he does not verbally complain. Just passively aggressively punishes.
Who the fuck am I? I feel like I have opened Pandora's box and I am afraid to peek in and I know I can't close it. I am a confused mess with a bottle of wine and no one to share it with. I never wanted to admit this but I am going to just to get it off my chest. I am a desperate housewife and I am friends with desperate housewives and I honestly think we are all fooling each other about those fakey fake smiles we wear.
Otherwise we wouldn't sit around and dream about pool boys, road trips without our husbands, and wish we had something else going on in our lives besides being a Mrs. X with absolutely no job skills and no confidence about the future.
What a life! No prospects, no confidence, lonely, lost, and used up. You know what, I feel like a book that was left in the rain and all the writing washed away leaving ink blots and the blank book was picked up by someone that cannot write! I guess it will be a picture book for now.
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