Generally I do the most writing on my Open Diary account I've had for like the last 5 years.  However, the server is repeatedly going down & writing there has became impossible the last week.  So, here I am.  Will I copy & past this? Possibly.  Who knows.  Who cares.

It's 10 pm.  I just got out of bed for the first time in over 24 hours.  Not really sure why I've even bothered.  I need to do homework.  Must do homework.  I can't just sleep & flunk out of life.  Yet, I don't care.  The longest I've made it out of bed since Wed night is about 2 hours.  Maybe I can beat that record.  But already I'm feeling the urge to go back to it.  To lay down.  Pull the covers over my head & pretend the world just doesn't exist.  

My kids will be back tomorrow.  I'll be forced to function at least enough to care for them.  I should go grocery shopping in the morning.  Haven't bought groceries in like 3 weeks or more.  We have no food & ran out entirely yesterday.  I really don't care.  I don't need to eat.  But they do.

Doctor appointment Monday.  What's the point?  It'll be the same conversation.  You have to take these medications.  You have to.  If you don't we're going to have to consider more drastic actions.  We are going to monitor your weight.  You're killing yourself.  You can't keep doing this. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  I'll smile.  I'll say okay.  I'll take them for a week.  And when the threats seems like they may become reality I'll put on the fake face & pretend to be perfect long enough for everyone to back the fuck off & let me return to my misery.

I want to feel better.  I really do.  But I hate side effects.  I hate the way most pills make me feel.  I hate functioning when I'm so unhappy.  I'd rather sleep.  I'd rather forget.  I'd rather pretend that nothing was real.

Today has consisted of sleeping & crying.  Too much.  Nobody really cares.  I've realized that much.  I get it.

I feel like I screwed up so horribly.  I want to tell Trent I'm sorry.  I want to tell him I wish I'd of done things differently.  I want to tell him I didn't mean the things I said.  I want to tell him it wasn't right of me to be so evil & vindictive even if he was an ass.  I want to hear his voice one more time.  I want to see him smile.  But I can't.  He's dead.  I think it hit me today.  I thought it had hit me when he died, but somehow today I was laying in bed & realized that he really is dead.  I really can't say anything to him ever again.  That kills me.  I still had some of his stuff in boxes.  I found it while I was cleaning stuff out the other day & I think that's what began this huge depressive episode.  Word of advice…  Don't ever keep your exhusbands shit because you want him to suffer.  Don't ever keep your kids away from him.  Because when he suddenly dies at the age of 30 you will be filled with more guilt then you ever thought could be possible.  Don't ever repress the feelings of the divorce, don't ever ignore the grief.  Because suddenly when it all hits at once & you're forced to deal with it life really fucking sucks.

And I am broke.  Completely & utterly broke.  It's lovely.  We're trying to move across the country.  So I'm here.  All alone.  With 2 kids.  While Ty works.  it's overwhelming.  Exhausting.  Frustrating.  And then he's sending me less money then he said he would each & every time.  I have enough to pay bills.  That's it.  No money to save.  No money for buying anything at all.  How in the living hell am I suppose to save $4,000 by December?  Right now I'm even with the world.  I need to somehow.  Someway save that.  And the thought is killing me.  Honestly, I don't know what to do.

I guess right now I feel like due to money I'll be stuck right here raising two kids without an ounce of help for the rest of my life.  I hate it.