I was asked if I wasn’t writing to punish Noah. No, you pita I am not punishing Noah. My arms hurt and I haven’t figured out typing with the braces yet (I’m not sure I will be able to type at speed on this keyboard–it’s really slow and hard) and I haven’t had much time alone in a room. Using edibles instead of smoking means that all of my alone time is running. I can’t type while running.

I miss my mom really hard.When I think about her lately I remember the things she got right. My mom was very good at Christmas and birthdays. She was good at them because she was raised Mennonite (so no Christmas) and her father’s birthday was the same day as hers and he was more important during her childhood. So she paid a lot of attention to her kids on special days. She was absolutely in the the gift love language camp.

I gave my mom her first Christmas stocking when I was sixteen. She cried. No one had ever thought of her. I don’t want to become her.

Noah isn’t big on birthdays. Not his own or anyone else’s. I feel like that makes me a worthless piece of shit. I work how hard all year long on our life and I prioritize other people above me all the god damn time. I treat me like I’m not very important pretty much every day. I look forward to my birthday as the day when I’m special. Only I’m not. I’m stupid to think I am.

It’s not that I’ve had good birthdays ever–I’m not saying my mom managed that. But she gave me a lot of presents. Well, when I was going into middle school my birthday presents were a trapper keeper, lined notebook paper, and pencils. My birthday is the second week of school in a lot of districts. I didn’t even get fucking erasers. I got in a lot of trouble for crying and making my mother feel bad. It was rude of me.

I’m in a bad spot. The suicidal ideation is really pervasive, dominant, and overwhelming. I keep showing up to work every day hoping that if I ignore it then it will go away. I’m angry and sad. I feel worthless. I feel like outside of Calli and Shanna no I don’t actually care if it would hurt people for me to die. I don’t care if you people get to hurt more than me one day. Fuck you for thinking you should be more important than me forever.

But I really don’t want to do that to my children. So I don’t. Today I feel very certain that if I didn’t have kids I wouldn’t be here any more. Nothing else is worth this.

Noah and I have talked about his worry about what happens when the kids are grown ups. Will they still be enough? Will he be enough? I don’t know. Given that I just got told fuck you for the fourth year out of six years of marriage on my birthday probably not. Probably not. I feel like a selfish piece of shit but no I don’t think I have another thirty years of this in me. I’m tired of feeling worthless and unimportant. I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this.

I feel humiliated and embarrassed. I shouldn’t care. It should be no big deal. I shouldn’t even blink at this point. I know I’m not important. I don’t know why I keep being stupid enough to be disappointed by reality over and over.