Misery loves company...anyone for tea? Oh and....

At church today, one of the bishopric asked to talk to me and then asked me how I am .
Oh dear.
Actually I didn't cry, which you would think is a great thing, wouldn't you?
The thing is, for weeks now I have been trying to put a finger on how I am and what I am feeling and because he asked me, I tried to answer ( note to all, don't ask me how I am, I might believe you want me to tell you and then, tell you!)
I do know that for a long time it would appear that the only emotion I have left is anger and so much of it. I feel such ANGER...without a clue as to what I am angry at /about. Everything makes me angry, really, everything, really angry.
You? Probably make me angry.
Him...definitely.
Breathing? Don't do it near me or I might smack you in the head.
Eating, don't let me hear you is all.
Need me to cook for you? Clean for you? Think for you ( don't ask me to think for you, really. Don't)
Laundry anyone? Sod off and go au naturelle and pick your damn clothes up off the floor for the love of Pete and who IS this Pete, bring him here so I can give him a piece of my mind.
I am not mildly irritated, I am head explodingly rage filled. All day, every day. It is wearing me out and bringing the whole house down.
I wish I knew what was making me so angry because the relief I would feel at beating the living hell out of it would be great. I just wake up and what do you know? Here we go again, surrounded by idiots and with the world doing it's best to make me snap. Except I'm not and it isn't..so what is the deal?
This is when I have to accept that in my head things are not always as they should be. This is one of those times where I am probably going to have to suffer it ( though not gladly and what about my poor family?) until some long apparently forgotten misery comes back to haunt me. I have so much sadness and horror that I have hidden so well for so long I have forgotten much of it, every so often ( less often these days though for that am truly grateful) Something happens, or doesn't happen and it triggers a memory, I never suddenly remember what it is that is festering in my soul right away....it's more like a niggling ache, an occasional stabbing of pain that goes before it even registers properly and this goes on and on until right when I least expect it...it erupts and my heart or brain explodes. Sometimes both.
For months I have felt as though I am superfluous to this family. I have my uses and I do my bit relatively well, juggling the finances, making the calls, folding the clothes. Get up, deal with it go to bed, get up deal with it go to bed, lather, rinse , repeat. As for a real purpose or any great importance? Nah.

I am more heart sore about Sophie than I can ever let on and I am so angry, so blisteringly furious on her behalf and also at her. Always so angry at her, with her, for her.
She is beautiful and I want so much for her. She is infuriatingly hopeless at doing anything for herself. Every time I walk past what was our dining room and I see every single surface covered in her crap, when I see suitcases that were neatly stacked in the workshop scattered over the floor, when I see the mattress leant against the wall, pillows thrown where they land, makeup and girls crap spread from one end of the table to the other I am so incensed that I want, with every fibre of my being to charge in there and smash the whole room to smithereens.
For so many reasons, the obvious, that she has so little regard for us and our feelings right on to the fact that she has nowhere to go and not enough self esteem to believe she can go wherever she likes.
I am furious at every 19 year old girl with her future before her.
I loathe every younger than 19 year old girl who is happy, who is loved and safe. I hate pretty much every girl over 19 who has the same thing too.
I think I am beginning to see what is at the centre of my rage this time. Although I am unable to see what to do about it.
I want to be every body's fairy Godmother but I can't even be one girl's mother.
I want to change the world but I can't even change what is happening in my own dining room.
She tells me about a man following her in a subway at 2am......I stare at the wall.
She shows me a bite on her breast from some sick creep and I sigh.
She cries and I ignore her.
She yells and I yell back.
She leaves and I sigh with relief.
She comes back and I shut down.

She is....and I'm not.
I am all out of everything. No ideas, no energy, no hope.
I have many signs that the depression is back and it's raring to go. I don't want it here. I have been doing what I have always watched with horror in others' lives.
I spend way too much time and energy trying to get away. The problem with that is, when I get away, I have to come back and it's all still here, it isn't going anywhere unless I make it leave and I have no idea how to do that.
Back to square one then.

They say you are only as happy as your most miserable child. Indeed.

Oh and....
Why ..WHY do skinny people always go on about how unskinny they are and how so out of shape and how oh poor me, to look this way.
Look....being fat is miserable and only fat people should be able to whine about it, do not whitter on about how when you were jogging / at yoga / doing your workout you were so horrified at how fat and unfit you are/were. Bollocks.
If you jog/ go to yoga/ do workouts the chances are you are really NOT fat, not real fat, not huffing up the stairs fat, not weeping at the reflection as you walk past fat, not oh hell now this shirt is cutting the circulation to my arms off fat. Shut up and let us real fat people tell it how it is .
Skinny people get to whine about how cold they are and um, how skinny they are, shut up about being fat when you have an extra 3lbs hidden under your hair somewhere, stop stealing the stuff fat people are entitled to say but never will because if they do, someone will tell them to stop eating then lard arse.
Shut up.
( is it terribly bad to admit to how good whining is? I love it. Go me!)