Asking for help...

I had dreams before, I was happy and I never worried.

I hoped.

A time when I was happy (and jolly-ish?)...at least I thought I was happy.

I may not have realized it then, but there was a time that I actually enjoyed life.  I was happy with everything and wanted nothing to change - in fact, I hated change.

The other day I smiled at a food service worker politely as I ordered.

"Why are you so happy?  Did you win the lottery or something?" The cheery Asian woman asked me as she prepared my food order.

Deceitful smile.

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head no.

I am not happy ...but I did get an extra fortune cookie for that smile.

Which I later opened up to find:


It was one of those days where I wished I could have drowned myself in my honey garlic chicken and rice, and that fortune was totally wrong.

Lately I have been all of those things.

It's hard for me to ask for help.  It comes with everyone telling me how strong I am for being a single mother.  Although I mostly disagree, I am not strong, I get us by because I have to - a strong person would have accepted this and taken it on without being bitter about it.

I am still bitter.

I faked ear pain to get myself into the office.  I guess it wasn't really faking, my ears have been bothering me lately. I decided that it was speak now or forever hold my peace and get over it on my own (I still have wedding stuff on my brain I guess).

Of course there was nothing wrong with my ears and I found myself surrendering to my ego as the doctor walked away.


but then he unexpectedly turned his head back - something I did not expect


and I blurted it all out.  Everything. Well most of everything.


"He doesn't deserve this"
"He is a great kid" 
"I am out of control"

My main focus was on my child, but to be honest everyone has felt my wrath lately.  Friends, co-workers, co-worker friends, students, neighbours, family members, people who drive like grannies out on a Sunday.  Nobody is safe from my mood swings.

The doctor sighed (did he really just do that) and looked both sad and frustrated. He asked if I yelled at him a lot.

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes and my voice cracked as I gave him the brutal honest truth.  I do yell.  I have yelled at him for a very long time. 

  I felt like he hated me for confessing this.  I hated me so why wouldn't he?

My dirty little secret out in the open. Only it's not so secret to those who live around me.  How could it be? I do lose control, I don't hit, but I do lose control of my frustration.  Unfortunately he is the main target because he is just always here.

He wrote out a prescription, tore it off the pad and passed it to me.

That was hard.

I'm doing it for us.

I hope this is the cure.