Stale Hell, Fresh Hell

So, yeah, click the cute kitty pic and donate through paypal if you can. I don’t like being this repetetive and aggressive but THIS IS ABOUT KEEPING A HOME FOR MY CHILD SO I CANNOT BE DEEMED UNFIT SIMPLY FOR BEING BROKE. And fyi, if *someone* wasn’t over $4000 behind in child support, we wouldn’t be in this position.

Four days since she emailed the donor. 4 days without him replying. This is my fresh hell. She has been having so many screaming meltdowns, I truly think the situation is upsetting her more than it is making her happy to see her ‘father’. No one cares about the damage being but me. That lawyer may as well being working for the donor. The thought of taking her tomorrow to meet the dreaded one has me both anxious but depressed. 8 years is a long time to go without seeing your kid, especially when you lived around the corner and never once asked or even tried to see her. I know my kid and if he buys her stuff or acts silly, she will love him. Then later the fallout will come and I’ll probably be the worst parent on Earth (he does live in town, remember) so I’ll be on the shit list and he will be elevated to God like status. But it’s not just my ego.

It is that my daughter is so fickle and he is not good at keeping his word so first time he messes up, it will still be my fault and I will be bandaging her psychic wounds all the while that grinning monkey of a lawyer tells me this is what is best for her. No, it’s just what is easiest for him. Sooner he gets this through the court the sooner he can send his overly padded bill for 3 years to my uncle who guaranteed it. Three fucking years on a non contested no property and no custody dispute case. He makes me sick, he is why people despise lawyers. Any other lawyer it would have taken 2 hearings and done. By dragging it out for years (because the donor moved and switched jobs so much and never notified the court) he ranks up more fees.

I am trying to keep a positive and hopeful attitude that this is what is best for Spook but…you know how you get that nagging sensation in your gut that tells you it wasn’t just you, that there is something very wrong with another person? That is how I am feeling and my instinct is to protect my child, from physical harm or mind games.

Stale hell, of course, is that I haven’t bathed in a week, my meds aren’t doing fuck all, I still just want to sleep all of the time, and anything beyond a trip to the local minimart sents me into a panic spiral. And because all of this other stuff is weighing me down, the housework has piled up and my brain says, hell, you’re unfit, they’re gonna take your kid away…and the other part of me who is just so fucking exhausted and tired of having a thousand pounds of stress placed on me with no one willing to even toss me a lifesaver as I bob in the water…that part is like, I got no fight left in me. If being behind on laundry and needing to mow the lawn are fatal, tap me out.

I mean seriously. The child has her own bedroom. She has an MP3 player, a tablet, a dollhouse, a swingset, a scooter, a bike. The fridge is always filled with fruit and veggies in addition to food for meals. She is kept clean, goes to the doctor and dentist, she has friends, she has a pet cat….So if my biggest sin is the difficulty I have always had keeping up with housework, it would make far more sense for them to get me once a week help for this stuff than to label me unfit over dustbunnies and being disorganized.

I put nothing past the donor. I could just see him saying, hey, I have a girlfriend and we have a stable home with a second bedroom and I’m not working so our home would be better for Spook…He is that important in his own mind. And to get out of Armpit, I swear my kid would sell me out in a heartbeat. She hates it here more than she loves me. As evidenced by yet another 90 minute screaming fit last night that started out as “give me a bath NOW’ and I said in awhile, and she started growling then said, fine if I let her have fudge round cookies…I said no, there’s carrots and celery in the fridge and crackers, you can eat that…and then like Linda Blair channeling satan the child went ballistic, accused me of never bathing her, never feeding her and being a starver, I am mean, I do nothing but watch TV, I like the cats more than her, and if I really loved her I’d give her all the cookies she wants and move us back to town where she is happy.

Sound exhausting and nerve fracturing?

Try 4-5 nights of it every single week. Ever since we moved here. One more reason to swallow pride and try to raise funds so I can get us moved back to town at some point. Not like I dig living in the sticks. But I’m not blaming my dislike for rural towns on her or anyone else, this is just how it went down. I too am not entirely happy here. I am also grown up enough to know that a simple change of locale isn’t going to solve a damn thing because I need to cover the bills here or I won’t be able to get service should we get the chance to move.

I know, I am cracking my fucking lids, writing less coherently than usual. This is where I am now. Sure could use a few kind people to extend a hand and help pull me out of the rabbit hole. I got three more ‘no thank yous’ from my job search today and I am feeling pretty useless. Those feelings of useless are depression’s way of weakening you to do bad bad desperate BAD things to escape the pain you’re feeling.

I don’t like that place in my own mind so here I am, reaching out.

Mom and Daughter need help.

And a basket of kittens cos it is, after all, Caturday.

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