This is all there is

“I think many people can get to the point of feeling as if they only exist for the use by others. I often do and I wonder if that is all there is to living, just all this doing for others. I stop even considering who I am outside of what needs doing next. I think if this is all there is and as good as it gets then I just would rather not continue on.” A commenter Penny Griffin on an Amanda Palmer post on Facebook about the Amy Winehouse documentary.

Every freaking day. It just feels like too much work to shred old writings, close or delete social and email accounts, and weed out my clutter and I would HAVE to do all of that first.

I have never really known who I am. First child at 19, third child at 30 who turned out to be special needs. Now at age 42, I still and always will change diapers, dress and feed a kid who needs full supervision for the rest of my life. The REST of my LIFE. And the rest of her life beyond that.

Yes, people do what I do for a living but they leave after their shift, they get days off, vacations, don’t have to take that work home with them and be responsible for it 24/7 and they get a paycheck. And they chose that specific job with those specific duties. They took it on knowing what the job entailed. I would not have chosen a career cleaning up people’s shit. I just wouldn’t have. So yes, it makes me depressed to know this is my future.

This is all there is for me. I don’t even actually exist anymore. I feel like my body is here but I’m brain dead in the real world. To be something more than I am or will ever be, I wish I could just stay in bed and keep dreaming. I’m good for making sure there’s food in the house and giving rides to places everyone else needs or wants to go.

I tell myself lies to make myself feel better. My purpose is this now. Raising a child with special needs. What an honor. I must be a very special person to have been given this tough but rewarding responsibily.


Just have to stay positive. She’s happy and makes others happy and that’s what counts. I’m a strong person and have so much patience. Boy, I sure can keep it together.


I cry every single fucking day. I’m alone in this. I don’t have family or friends who bother to call or stop over and ask how we’re doing and take Sarah for a bit. This isn’t their struggle. People are sick of being around me, too. No one wants to listen to me. I’m depressing to be around. I don’t want to listen to other people either. They just go on about their lives and frankly I’m jealous. Of everyone. I’m jealous of your house, your cruise, your Disney, your girls’ night, your husband’s salary, your salary, your ability to leave your able-bodied ‘tween’ on their own gradually while you run quick errands by yourself and don’t have to wait until the CNA’s two hour shift.

This isn’t even Ron’s struggle. He just goes to his job, works whatever fucked up schedule they tell him to work. I’m supposed to somehow figure out my life around his fucking ever – changing schedule. Overnights are horrible. He’s gone all night. I might as well be single. He sleeps all day while I play special needs single mother. But he’s indifferent. Doesn’t make a difference to him. He doesn’t have to think about how I’m going to try to find care for Sarah and find a job and what order and how much will I have to pay vs what I’ll get paid. He doesn’t have to worry about appointments, prescriptions, meetings. He doesn’t stress about what he’s going to do with his life. He never thought of or planned to do any more with his life than he is. He had his kid-free twenties and most of his thirties. He was in the military (but never in a combat zone). He traveled and lived all over the world. When can I do this? I just want to get out of here.

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