Crackers, revisited.

In a lot of ways, this blog has become a little too familiar to me.  I feel like I have become too close to it.  I have a good idea of who most of the people who read it are, and as a result, I feel like I've stopped digging down to the core of myself.  I think I've stopped putting down my real true feelings to an extent-- to protect myself, and to protect those who care about me.. I don't want people to worry about me. Not really.  Not the way my family tends to worry.
I have even considered starting a new blog.  With my same information and stories, but starting over, anonymously.  I miss the beginning days of ranting from my soul.  Before I thought anyone was reading or paying attention. 

So now, I'm gonna try to start again.  I'm going to attempt to start writing from that hurt again.  That place that we try to hide from those we love.  The raw self.

With that said...  I am very sad and depressed lately.  This is nothing new.  This is a theme that has come and gone in my adult life, and has been treated in different ways depending on my lifestyle at any given time.  The chemical depression and anxiety runs in the women in my family.  Luckily, my sisters and I learned this early on, and all addressed it with medication when need be.
I suffered pretty bad from postpartum syndrome after my first son was born, and that was a horrible uphill battle that I never saw coming.  Luckily, with a swift kick in the ass from a friend, and support from my sisters, I managed it.

But this depression is a different one.  This is a real one.  This is a sad one.  This is a real acknowledgement of what my life has become.  Where I am, and where I will very likely be for potentially the next 18 years, give or take.
I was thinking today about all the athletes you see on tv after a great championship game is won:  so
many times you hear the star player saying things like, "I just wanna thank my Mom-- she did whatever it took for me...or "My Mom did it all on her own and got me to where I am now..." yadda yadda yadda.  Our own President of the U.S. was raised by a single Mom who did it alone-- that's the ultimate happily ever after.   You also hear the heartbreak stories of the kids that slip through the system.. The kids who were left to their own devices and got in trouble because their Mom's were off at work trying to make things happen.

I got to thinking.  Wow.  I will probably be alone in this all the way through.  I will be waiting tables, and/or working other halfass jobs to allow me to be around my boys and still semi support them for the next 18 years.  This is probably my reality.  And I will more than likely live under my parent's roof in one fashion or another from here on out.  I don't blame myself.  I fully blame John.  I hate his guts.  And I am sad and depressed.  . . . And I'm gonna be talking about it here. Again.