I’ve jokingly said that I “have a condition.” But I now wholeheartedly believe that I do. What is it? I’m not sure. But I do know that my internal struggle over what fulfills me and gives me joy—well, it’s constant.

On the best and most perfect days, days that are going so well that there is literally nothing for me to complain about—I could cry. I could bawl. I could curl up in a depressed, miserable ball and scroll away the world in whatever distraction I can find on my phone. I can lose myself in another world through books and slip away, only to resurface after the conclusion of the series and feel even worse for coming back to reality.

I don’t know why I am this way. I always have been. I either have to live in my delusions, where I romanticize my life and post it online to validate those delusions and bring them to life so I’m not depressed… or I live in the quiet reality of the fact that I can have good days, but at my core I am completely unhappy. Living in reality eliminates my romanticizing habits completely, and then I’m left with no purpose. At least part of my purpose that kept me going was weaving the illusion of a happy, peaceful, wonderful, and desirable life.

Now? That’s gone. I can’t do that anymore. That’s how the world villainized me to begin with—the cheating, abusive ex-husband was never actually brought to justice. Because of my coping, my posting, and my sharing with the world how perfect my life was, I was able to suppress what was so horribly wrong in my life.

So what now? How do I cope? I have nothing left to prove. I’m left to my own devices, in isolation from the world, and I’m drowning—drowning in the daily grind and wishing for sleep at the start of my day.

I need to be busy. I need to stay busy. I need some kind of interaction on a daily basis, some kind of “win” to get me going. But I have nothing. I can’t really go anywhere right now for several reasons. My new husband can’t come home often for those same reasons. And aside from that, I’m stuck in place here, alone with two young kids who are in the same sinking ship as I am.

How do I cope? How do I make this work?

Maybe I’ll make a blog and cope through that. It’s an idea. It’s not necessarily social media—it can be anonymous. I can share my fears, desires, hopes, and dreams without the world crashing down on me if certain people heard. I could be genuine. Original. I could be messy, and I could be vulnerable.

Maybe someone else could relate. Maybe they could tell me where to go next. Maybe there’s hope for my kids to come out of all this mess unscathed and stronger than before. Or maybe I’ll find another kindred soul, and we can just settle into our pits together—at least having someone who understands.

So what now? I guess a blog will do. It’ll be my saving grace—or my doom. I guess we’ll find out.

Welcome to my first blog post that I didn’t realize I was writing. Welcome to MountaindaleMomma. Mom of 2, divorcée, remarried, and survivor of circumstances within and beyond my control.

Welcome to my messy life.