It has come to my attention that nothing will send me into a blind fury faster than attempting to blow sunshine up my ass and/or saying “I know what you’re going through” when you don’t know enough about me to even remotely assume that.
If you have gone through a divorce, moved across the country to a place you despise from a place you love, felt completely alone even in your own family’s house, worried incessantly about the safety of your child, drowned in debt, lost a job you love and had to pick up a job that only paid 66% of your former pay and didn’t teach you nearly what you hoped it would, spent weekends normally reserved for polite conversation with friends attempting some sort of fragile truce with your father (who has just dealt with prostate cancer) that has you biting your tongue and feeling like shit because of some of the things he does and says, and had to deal with recurrent feelings of failure all at the same time while still trying to come across as a sweet person and loving mother when all you want to do is hop on the next plane West and disappear, then maybe we can talk. Maybe, I’ll open up to you and we can have a good old fashion therapy session. In the meantime, shut the fuck up, realize I’m doing the best I can, and know that I’m already savagely beating myself up over the mistakes I’ve made and I don’t need you adding to it.
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