My Limit

I think I have reached my limit.

My life has always been a struggle, I know most people's lives are a struggle and it's something I should just get used to; so says my mom. "Life is always like that, you should get used to it." But should it be? Should we always have to fight?

I fought through grade school, literally and figuratively. I was fat, ugly, had massive acne (that has still not gone away, thank you hormones) and had some huge emotional issues. I was picked on a lot, and when I wasn't I was feeling like no one liked me and using that to fuel my cutting.

All the same crap happened through high school as well, only I got way more intense. More cutting, drugs, alcohol, hatred, attempted suicide. I did so many things that make me hate myself on a pretty regular basis, but I've mostly moved past them.

Sometimes they haunt me.

I conquered the drugs, the alcohol, the abuse, everything. I've moved on (supposedly). I graduated college with a 4 year degree in just over 4 years. I am raising 2 amazing beautiful girls. I have a husband who is pretty damned irresponsible but so awesome that it overshadows all of it. My oldest is happy, so happy it hurts my heart sometimes.

But I'm at my limit for fighting.

We got a great tax return but it's all going to a new car because the new (used) car we bought a few months ago has crapped out. My husband doesn't think he can go to school and work at the same time. And should he? Rightly, if I was a better wife and mother I would be the one busting my ass a job so he could better himself since I decided to do nothing with my degree.

We are barely holding on and I see no future different from where we are. We're surviving, but I don't want to be where we are for the rest of our lives - struggling, fighting, hating myself, hating where we are, and feeling like the worst wife in the history of terrible wives.

I pretend so well.

Even in these posts where I can write whatever I want I fake it. I pretend to be happy and put together, and most days I am. But tonight I've reached the end. Steven has gone to work for his graveyard job, I'll be sleeping alone again, Reyna is finally not screaming, and my eyes are scratchy their so tired. But I can't sleep, and I can't stop hating everything about me.

From everything I have accomplished and fought to free myself of I should be proud and happy.

But I'm not.