All I Want For Christmas Is…

more patience with my child and the ability to handle excessive noise without spazzing out. Really. Because she requires an ass ton of patience and she never stops talking even when eating, she talks in her sleep, and on top of yowling cats and cars driving by and oh, the neighbors screaming earlier cos one of them locked the other out and wouldn’t open the door…

It’s double the dose Xanax time.

And I feel pathetic and shitty, of course, cos they didn’t even bring her home til five thirty and she was asleep by seven thirty and still…That two hour slice of demands, complaints, yapping, yapping, more yapping, more complaining and then her acting out obnoxiously because I tried to spend two minutes reading something before answering her millionth question all the while attempting to cook the supper she requested we eat together at the table…

PFFFFTTTT. I am pms-y, I am stressed, and every sound is like two evil leprechauns using my nerve endings as a jump rope while a mob of Oompa Loompas go over and under….

I just want to be a good mom.

Yet I am so easily overwhelmed. And hormonally miffed. I told my dad I wanted her home tonight so she and I could put our tree up…And he said they hadn’t gotten theirs up yet either…so they went ahead and kept her so she could help with their tree thus ensuring she has no interest in our little fake one.

Fuck, yeah, I am hypersensitive because they are uber douchey.

And apparently, in spite of me, as well as dad’s faction offering to help, mom and sis and their crew are telling people we’re too good to help them move so they had get their friends who are their “real family.”  Yep, you feed me, my spouse, and our three kids two hundred nights a year for free like you do those bums, we’ll be your real family, too.

Shallow people suck. Hypocrites suck. It all sucks.

The highlight of my day, and I mean the part where I really wish I could sue the “mental healthcare professionals” as it is when I need help the most but of course, it’s not scheduled in my forty minutes per year of quality doctor/therapist time on a clock…I had to go to the second busiest store in town aside from Walmart and it was packed and all the bright colors and people and phones going off and registers beeping had me ready to vomit into a cart. THAT is when I need a professional to call and have them talk me through it with their stupid exercises that supposedly cure cancer and anal leakage.

Alas, no. Aside from my 40 minute insurance allotted time…I am on my own in this fucking petri dish noise filled nightmare world and let’s just say, some days…the coping isn’t going so well.

So…yeah. I did some housework and got groceries before I hit the wall.

But I did hit the wall, face first, and damn it, it only looks like it’s made out of foam. It’s actually concrete.

If anyone knows where I can procure some patience and a drug strong enough to make me bulletproof to auditory stimuli….Please for the love of pegacorn tell me.

It’d be the best Cryptmas ever if I could look at a lit up tree without my retinas bursting into flames cos the colors are too bright and the Christmas carols are too shrill.

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34 Responses to “All I Want For Christmas Is…”

  1. I flip out about too much light, too much stupid noise, slamming doors and car doors. Fighting with my father. Going to stores without company if I can help it. My dad hates that I isolate myself in my room and so does my son and he is BP too. But he doesn’t want me around whining either.

  2. I had to go to one of the big supermarkets today at rush hour and my gosh, it was madness. It really is madness. The colors, the noise, the sheer amount of sparkly inert commodities, the ambient buzzing, the totally unnatural and inhuman way we are not humanly relating but using each other as means for purely transactional, impersonal. Sure we tribe folk are preternaturally sensitive, but it IS legitimately insane. I think we just see it for what it is. Drop a hunger-gatherer — ie a truly sane Human Being — in Wall-Mart and I’m pretty sure he’d be dead of a heart attack within minutes.

  3. You know. I like junk food. I have a particular weakness for McDonald’s and I can no longer eat inside because all the beeping of the machines and the people and the yelling and the fast pace just make me want to crawl into a hole. I don’t know what it is, what happened to me between when I ate merrily at those grease covered tables and now, but I can’t stand noise like that.

    I lose the ability to use my lungs. Can’t breathe. Insert panic.

    The world sucks. Get you on the 40 minute allotted thing. Horrible. I read people who can call their shrinks and therapists and think it must be nice. I can’t do that. Because I’m poor and don’t matter. Fuck them all.

  4. I am super super hypersensitive to almost everything. Overstimulated is a bold faced understatement. I feel electricity in the floor/walls, etc. Absolutely not stretching it when I say I’m boot shit deep in overwhelmed. I TOTALLY getcha!

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