1:56

This is me, wide awake and staring at a dark ceiling. My lower back is on fire, my stomach feels like it's full of razor blades, and my head aches. And I can't sleep. Swirling around my muddled head are dollar signs and broken hearts and desperate frustration.

Here I am at 33. Most of the people my age that I know, and many younger people, are sleeping peacefully in their beds, next to their spouses, with their children tucked in safely down the hall. My girls are a million miles away right now. hopefully sleeping, with sand and marshmallow stuck in their hair, dirty clothes and the smell of campfire saturated through them. They are probably dreaming of horses, and kittens and climbing on rocks, and slippery fish. Maybe they're dreaming of scary precipices like the one we have been living on for years now. I feel so desperate. Desperate to provide them, and me with stability that should have been guaranteed them from the get-go. Is it all my fault, for divorcing David? Was I supposed to bear my pain in silence and model for them how one turns the other cheek for a lifetime, succumbing to the lies of inadequacy and condemnation? Why are we the ones suffering for the sins of the father? Why am I lying here in pain with no peace and no rest, in mortal fear for the future of myself and my girls. It just isn't fair. I want it to stop, all this uncertainty, to go away. I want to be sure of something. Anything. Right now I am sure of nothing. Other than what I want. It makes my heart hurt as much as the rest of my body to know that. To feel that uncertainty. It makes me angry and ill. I just want to be sure of a house, a job. Food on the table. I can't  express how I feel when people are stressed about the money they need for disneyworld. I know I am irresponsible. It is so aggravating to see david be endlessly irresponsible and I am the one paying for it, but every latte of irresponsibility in my life is reaped a thousandfold almost instantly. Maybe that's just it, the age old lesson. I can't change him, can't fix him or anyone else. I can only fix me. I can only work on me, guard my responses, choose my reactions, think through my actions. All things I have never been good at. I am impulsive, compulsive. sometimes repulsive to myself. Right now I feel like I must be repulsive to everyone as I wallow in my financial squalor. Obviously I repulse my family, I am the lost cause, the black sheep with no hope for salvation. All of the personal revelation in the world can't make up for the rejection of one's upbringing.

Yes, that is the basis of my unhappiness, isn't it. The fact that Jesus isn't the center of my life anymore. I mean, look at all the happy christians and their perfect debt free lives and families. Their beastophile husbands and ostrich relatives and blissful denial. This is why they make prozac, Jesus comes in a prescription bottle these days. If that is the case, then I am most definitely a christian. although I've been off of prozac for a couple weeks now, hence the lunatic raves you read now. God love PMS. All of the great writers must have most definitely been pre-menstrual. The lucidity with which I see the world at this moment of pain filled time is immeasurable. Don't worry, tormented internet. I won't burden you with my rant much longer. The drugs I took should kick in right about the time my kidneys fail, and I fall to sleep. Which should be any minute...