I haven’t been writing much these days, I’ve been mopey and feeling a little down. Between the grey weather we’ve been having and the pandemic I’ve not been feeling very wordy. I know I can’t be the only one who’s feeling it. Canada’s been hit hard by the Omicron variant of the Covid-19 virus and in the Maritimes, it feels like we’ve been hit especially hard. I’m so sick of this stupid virus.

There are days I wonder why I should bother getting out of bed, there’s nothing to do and no place to go but I do anyway. I pace around the house, do some housework here and there, paint and play video games. I just don’t have it in me to do more than that, really. No extra baking or anything, just the bare minimum to keep the house clean-ish.

I’ve been practicing my painting but I’ve been feeling a little discouraged lately. I’m still figuring out how to use mediums and I’ve been following some tutorials on YouTube but nothing is turning out the way I want. I’ve gone through ten canvases in an effort to create one decent painting.

Tired and lethargic is the best way I can describe how I feel. I can’t even watch the news anymore, it’s so unnerving to hear about supply chain issues, and distressing to go to the grocery store and see empty shelves.

To sum it all up in one word, blah! As crappy as this feeling is, it won’t last forever, it can’t.

I was a bit blue this Christmas because I miss my daughter and granddaughter. I miss the updates on how my granddaughter is doing, and the silly things she does to be funny. My daughter used to call me nearly every day but now, nothing for weeks.

I did talk to her in November and apologized for my part in our huge argument this fall. I did not handle things well. I was severely triggered and lost control of my emotions. I said some things I shouldn’t have so I swallowed my pride and reached out to her. She’s been avoiding talking to me since. She did send a text on Christmas day but that’s about it.

I’m struggling to give her the space she seems to need. It’s hard not to take my daughter’s absence from my life personally. I feel totally rejected but that may not be the reality. Maybe my daughter just isn’t able to talk to me right now because of her triggers and her mental health but it is so damned hard to keep that in mind.

On the flip side, I was elated that we were able to host my partner’s father and girlfriend on our first Christmas in the new house. They arrived Christmas Eve and were a big help with the cooking on Christmas Day. We had a few drinks, quite a few laughs. My partner’s father is so proud of him and it’s obvious. To see his son flourish and come out of his shell was a big deal.

Somewhere in the middle was the obligatory call to my parents on Christmas Day and another on New Year’s Day. I’m at a point where I can speak to them but on my terms. I don’t share anything personal with them anymore. I don’t let them see me, they don’t deserve the better parts of me so they get a cordial conversation about the weather. It always makes me a bit sad when I talk to them. I start to think about their disbelief of the molestation I endured at the hands of my older brother and so I cry a little every time. Why do I bother to call them at all, you ask. Because they are getting old, they are both in their eighties, and maybe I’m still hoping that one day they will see I’m not lying or making things up.

This Christmas was a mixed bag of emotions, some happy, some sad and I managed to get through the holidays without a single meltdown, and I’ll take that as a win.

I haven’t written in a while, I’ve been busier than normal. I’m settling into a new home, assembling furniture, keeping up with the housework and working on my painting skills.

I’ve also been adulting and catching up on paperwork for my disability insurance, doing my taxes, making doctor’s appointments and cooking at home rather than constantly ordering in. I like to cook but my old kitchen was nothing more than a small corner of the apartment, there was no room to do much of anything. Now that I have a suitable kitchen I can play Betty Crocker to my heart’s content.

I’ve also been playing mad scientist in the kitchen by cooking with cannabis. I’ve made chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter balls, and gummy bears. I’ve got to say all the recipes were delicious and effective. Nothing really tastes like weed but they were potent all the same.

We’re a bit further from everything and we don’t have a car so grocery and shopping trips have to be mapped out. It’s kind of funny how we had a very generous food budget but we were constantly going over it but now, even though we trimmed it, we came in under budget for November.

So much adulting, so little time….

Photo Courtesy of Pexels Free Photos.

I don’t want to give too much away about this series but there may be a few spoilers ahead. This is not a critique of the show rather an illustration of how I can relate to Alex and the difficulties in leaving an abusive relationship. This show actually made me cry a little.

I was in more than one abusive relationship and they each took their toll on my mental health. Because husband number two never hit me I didn’t think I could call it abuse but it is. That was the first thing I noticed Alex and I had in common, we both struggled to accept that the mental and emotional abuse was, in fact, domestic abuse.

Alex and I have both endured manipulation coupled with overtures of love and pleading for us to come back. We both eventually did but for different reasons. I was trying to save my marriage and she had suffered so many setbacks she didn’t think she had another choice. But we both went back into the fire.

Then came the deep dark well of depression and the feeling of never being able to escape the shtitastrophy of a marriage (or relationship) I was stuck in. Alex and I were both trapped. It took me a few tries before I was finally able to leave for good. Alex left again after Shawn had another outburst.

It’s been my experience that abuse doesn’t get better no matter what you do. It always escalates. It was just a matter of time before my husband would have likely hit me. I’ve been down that road before. And somewhere deep inside, Alex knew it would only get worse too. So far neither of us have gone back to our abusers. I closed that door for the last time and it looks like she did too.

Breaking free from a pattern of getting into abusive relationships is hard work. It takes a lot of brutal and sometimes harsh honesty but it is worth the journey. The relationship I have now is better and healthier because of the work I’ve done and my partner’s infinite patience.

**After watching Maid I felt compelled to write this for the women who keep going back or keep getting into abusive relationships. I see you, you are not dumb or stupid, it’s not uncommon for it to take a few tries to leave for good, and it’s not uncommon to get into a pattern of abusive relationships. You’re not alone.**

If you or someone you know is in immediate danger call 911.

Click here for information on women’s shelters within Canada and click here for more helpful information.

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It didn’t really dawn on me until we had already moved into our house but I have four toilets to clean. That’s a lot of toilets to clean and frankly it isn’t my favourite task. I’d rather clean just about anything else. Nonetheless I have four of them.

Whenever I I think about complaining (to myself) about cleaning the four stupid toilets in my house I remember when I had none to clean. There was a time, I was about nineteen, when I was homeless during my first pregnancy. My boyfriend at the time (not the baby’s father) would find us places to stay with his friends. We didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.

I was collecting welfare and he was doing nothing. He didn’t work, I did. I was a stripper before I started showing, and getting paid under the table. He and his friends would come and drink all the money I was making. I was invariably pissed off but he was physically abusive so I was hesitant to say anything. We were literally living hand to mouth, the little money left over from what I’d made would usually be enough for some fast food the next day and maybe bus fare. After I started showing I tried to work above board but it was never enough and I was better off not bringing in much money, he would just drink it all. But I digress…

It was a hard finding couches to surf night after night. I am grateful that not only do I have a stable roof over my head but I also have four damn toilets to clean.