I Hate My Life

To be fair, it probably wouldn’t matter what kind of life I had; I would probably hate it. Whether a Sherpa in Tibet, or a princess in Abu Dhabi, I suspect my brain would still tell me everything is well and truly fucked before I even opened my eyes in the morning. As a Malibu mom I still spend roughly 95% of my time awake telling myself that nothing is wrong by trying to be mindful, or staying in my body, or eating ice cream. Which is a shame because one of the few things that is good about my life at forty, is that I’m technically not fat. So let’s hope that holds.

I can’t really blame my kids for ruining my life, because I had a bad attitude even before I had children. I was born with a sense of entitlement, believing that people were who they appeared to be, when people smiled at you it meant something, and I would always be loved. Sadly, these beliefs proved idiotic, and at some point I must have internalized this sad state of affairs to create the behemoth of insecurity that nestles behind the ball-busting facade. I’m so insecure, I can’t even tell when someone really loves me, as I’ve been shown conclusively over the last couple of years, that even when people seem to love you, they can still yell at you daily, or fuck off out of your life for no apparent reason, or for a stupid reason; no matter how much you have been there for them, or liked them, or loved that little swirly thing they did with their tongues.

I don’t care if you hate me, because you will never hate me as much as I hate me. So I win! I will never be good enough in my own eyes except situationally- the added bonus of my weird personality disorder is that I can briefly feel good depending on the response of others. Then it immediately fades when they’re not there. Is that the technical definition of psychosis? Or just being an actor?

Even when I was married, I have always used love or romance to distract me from all this. There is so little that really makes life worth living, is it wrong to reach for an errant penis to try and make it better? Well, as a matter of fact, yes there is. The penis is hollow, not literally (as far as I know, I have never cross-sectioned one) but the feeling one is left with is. Like trying to fill an endless leaky bag with sand, I can’t reach for men anymore and it is fucking killing me. I’m so bored with life right now I could die, wish for it daily in fact, but G-d will not oblige, vindictive white bastard that He is.

I cry over chicken that doesn’t thaw in time, or thaws too fast and goes off. I cry over being late, or being too early so I have to sit in the car with my bitch feelings. I cry when I look in the mirror, and when there isn’t a mirror, and even without one, every cry is an ugly one. And before you suggest electroshock, as did one extremely helpful Facebook friend, let me also tell you this…

I’m taking a homeopathic remedy that I believe is right for me, and I am moving through something and that might be good. I’m trying to stay grateful through all this crying, and mostly trying not to self-medicate with anything, except a little nicotine vape, but not even that most fun medication of all, Cockandball.

Also I’m being really honest with my kids, day in day out, as my ex is out of town and I have been alone with them for far too long, and no candidate was ever more unsuited for being a patient mother than I, and yet as much as I can’t stand so many moments of it, I adore their beautiful faces and this puts them squarely in the “reasons to live” column.

And now I look up and see that one of my dogs is licking the wall. And I think, That is what I am, a dog licking a wall. And one of these days I will connect with whatever it is that observes me, as I am watching the dog, that which is silently trying to tell me to stop licking the wall, as it is a stupid waste of time and will lead to nothing of any value, it just seems like the right thing to do, a compulsive act of a confused mind…. And when I do, I will find peace. And the dog walks away from the wall, and I feel better for writing this, so I guess for now that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.


  1. Very well written article. I totally get where you’re coming from, even if not stated as eloquently most of the time. But, I’m a guy, so I am always less eloquent, right? And, never psychoanalysis to offer. Maybe some smartass shit, but that’s me. The rest is just raw admiration of you. 🙂
    Oh, and P.S. Kudos for using “errant penis.”

  2. Conceive. Believe. Receive. Write down five things each day you’re grateful for, even if it’s 1. brushing your teeth band 2. Having teeth to brush . As w anything, there’s energy and momentum like a freight train. If (and only if) you want to experience JOY, let joy be your focus until your train slows down, switches tracks and moves in a different direction. Life’s aboit choices and we are here to live in this precious present moment of NOW. If nothing else, think of how your children would feel growing up motherless. What’s your legacy going to be? Joy or misery. The choice is yours.

  3. Total sympathy. Wish there was a patch so that when a low hit hard and someone said “Get over yourself” or “how bad can it be” you could hit them with the patch and say “welcome to shitsville motherfucker.”

    And then take the patch off of them, because we’re not assholes, we’re just crazy.

    • Someone on Facebook just sent me a private message recommending I read Eckhart Tolle (no, really??????) and that he “doesn’t really care for self-pity.” This was after I put the link up on Facebook asking for no advice or psychoanalysis. I don’t even know what to reply because I don’t want to lose a fan… But the fucking nerve is astounding. Like someone pinned him down and made him read my innermost thoughts a la Clockwork Orange?

  4. Oh my fucking god, thawing chicken is nearly impossible. I wish I had a $1 for everytime I’ve thrown it out because I’ve over done it and it’s slimy and I have a phobia of food poisoning. Actually shouldn’t I want $15 for every time I’ve done it?…. Otherwise I’m selling myself short! Oh and why were on that, $15 for a packet of chicken, really! Well I guess I go for orgasmic or is that organic?……I’m not sure anymore, either way I feel you sister.

    On another note James Reyne is playing a series of concerts next month doing all the good Aussie Crawl songs, so you could always come and rock out to Hoochie Gucci Fiorucci Mama!!

    Anyway as you were! Xxx

  5. […] Even as I have aged and I have some lines and wrinkles, and pockets of fat, and some other nasty shit that happens as you get older and children ruin both your life and your looks, I know I’m generally good looking (#humblebrag.) And this is… not an advantage exactly, but a “thing.” It’s a thing because of the way men respond, and it’s a thing because sometimes women act kind of bitchy and competitive even though I don’t want their basic husbands, but usually it is simply a background condition I try to be grateful for, at least one upside to a life I sometimes don’t want. […]

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