Put a plaster on your wound

(Don’t know… Does it work? How?)

How can I possibly stop that big stone ball that’s moving inside myself… Guess I can’t, I’ll have to redirect it… ;)

I do have a lot to do, so maybe, just maybe, I can start fixing my, say, professional life, and I’ll go back to the personal side later on… Is that right?

However, after such a long time, I know now I won’t let some things happen again. Or… I’ll try not to… And there’s a lot I can do to make things easier, in fact. I want to learn how to communicate effectively (this headline could be taken from a fucking youtube video… whatever…) and I can be respectful and patient. Yeah, whatever again.  

See? I’m willing…

I’m willing… and I’m willing to do so many other things, too… That might be a little problem. 

Obvious

I know it's going to sound like me me me me again, but this is my stupid crap, isn't it? So just let me be...

I was supposed to be happy. I am supposed to be happy, live a happy (or quite happy) life, be able to give a fucking happy life to my sons... And, instead... Here I am, crying in bed at night like a lonely child, feeling helpless and lost... This is not right, not right at all.

And there you are, unhappy too. Is this even worth it?
You are not the same anymore. And I am not the name anymore... Is this what we really want?

Obviously, no.

Not in the mood

Really

Look, I’m aware at least half of the problem is my fault, I know I have so many things I need to change, and even though sometimes it hurts, I am willing to listen, it’s not criticism itself what makes me want to just leave. It’s everything that surrounds it. That’s what makes me feel like I should be back from all this crap by now…

So many hours of therapy, and I didn’t even solve this in my life… What a waste…

Life

One of my aunts has a cancer. It’s all about percentages. And also genes, I guess. She’s about to die. Now, thing is she has a son. The father is a dangerous drunkard, to make it short. Well, it might depend on the day, but generally he is, and he has no house, he lives here and there, depending on the girlfriend of the moment. The boy is twelve. My own son is seven, and the youngest, two. I can’t keep him, and it feels so wrong…

My aunt keeps thinking she’s going to get better, maybe she’s just saying… Her son doesn’t know she won’t. They have to move… They live in another city and we can’t help them there. They don’t want to leave their everything there. Not that they have a lot of things, it’s not really things what they have…

It’s hard.

We are holding plenty of family meetings. We are taking plenty of difficult decisions. We are trying to reach plenty of agreements.

It’s hard.