Falling Apart

There's an empty place in the pit of my stomach.  Or maybe it's where a soul belongs and I'm just feeling it physically.


Music doesn't bring me joy. The only joy I've felt recently has been fleeting and accompanied by an ice pick to my heart.

My stepson, the adorable little guy he is, gave me love this weekend.  Hugs and kisses and this massive goofy grin.  But the ice pick?  He called me mommy.  It was just once.  But it reminds me that I'm not mom.  Because everything his dad says reminds me that I'm nothing to HIS son.

I should be happy that he sees me as a mom figure. But i'm just hollow inside.

I'm tired of being a  broken, miserable version of myself.

I just can't find a way to put the pieces back together.

Help?
C.D.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hallmark movies

I have a confession... I love watching cheesy Hallmark and princess movies.  Extra credit if it's a Hallmark princess movie.  They're formulaic, they're poorly written, they recycle their cast, plots, and... well... everything.  But maybe that's the appeal. Silly romances aren't realistic, so it's a form of escapism on my part. Their recycled *everything* make them predictable and soothing. Do I expect a guy to sweep me off my feet in real life?  Well..  maybe...? It's hard to turn off the "girl brain." But the rest of me just wants someone to hold me and care about me and be vulnerable with me.  And someone who sticks around when I'm not at my best.  I dunno... Girl brain is still a thing, so the silly romance stuff still affects me. I wouldn't call the romance movies "setting unrealistic expectations" because I know they're unrealistic in the first place. But some aspects of them could be nice. Maybe if we take time to see o...
Read more

New Boots

There is no joy greater than a little boy's upon donning his first pair of real cowboy boots. Even if he is not a) a Texan, b) a farmer's child, c) an equestrian's child, or d) the son of anyone else who actually wears boots for work or play. It's just this instinct. Boots aren't like sneakers or sandals or those fantastic learning to walk shoes that my older girls wore out (with the completely flexible grippy soles and the soft leather uppers). Boots are substance. Boots are adult.  Boots make noise! For this reason, every boy needs a pair of cowboy boots sometime around the time he begins to walk. Nothing is more satisfying to a tank of a child than the clomp clomp of a pair of brown leather Justin boots. To the soundtrack of squeals of approving laughter from his mom, step mom (me, of course, and...in case you're wondering...yes I squeal, ain't no shame), and favorite big sister, our little guy experienced his first pair of real cowboy boots last night...
Read more

I had this client

 He was tall, dark, kind of thick and muscular... big strong rough craftsman's hands, deep rich voice,  thick southern accent. *swoon* He looked about 10-15 years past being a carpenter from a romance novel. And he,  without fail,  called me by a pet name... Darlin', Sugar, Sweetheart. He made me melt every blame time he walked into the office,  called,  or texted me (first client I EVER gave my cell number) .  I had a MAJOR crush on him and the lady that was an admin there and who had known the client for years and years said that he lit up around me and had never been like that before (seriously though,  how many people light up when they get their taxes done? ).  Co-worker admin would always say that he had as major crush on me. There was one time when I actually considered acting on it.  The stage was set.  I needed an estimate on some water damage in my home.  I was all alone at home.  He drives up and... the god...
Read more