Chicago resident and grandmother Helen Lambin likes it when young people stop her on the street to give her compliments on her tattoos, or when they simply yell out, “Nice ink!”. She enjoys the fact that her tattoos have helped create connections with strangers, of different generations and cultures. The idea for getting a tattoo came to her three years ago when she was feeling down about growing older. One led to another, and then another.
At this point, I’m pretty certain there is something wrong with me… Is it normal to want to drink to deal with the death of an addict? How fucking hypocritical of me. It’s a good thing I’m too far beyond giving a shit to.. Well, give a shit.
I feel like I’m suffocating. Simple, every day tasks are so overwhelming that I would just rather… Not.
I would rather not get out of bed, but someone has to feed my children.
I Would rather not go outside, but I suppose I have to. My children have to.
I would rather not go to the store, or clean my house, or eat, or be a decent wife. So many fucking obligations, and I just can’t deal with them right now… I’m just so damn tired….
Coming home to cremate my mother is the hardest thing I have ever done.. Our last conversation, all of the shitty things I said the day before she overdosed is like a broken record in my head.
Sifting through her personal space has made me realize just how lonely the life of an addict really is.. My mother was an addict…. What a hard fucking reality..
The truth is, she is free now. I should be happy for this. I should be glad that I have a chance to let go of all of the bad and re-live only the good. I should be relieved that I can stop worrying about her. Really though, I’m just angry. I’m
So fucking mad that this happened to my family, to MY mom. We should have beat the statistics.
Maybe if I had done more….
There is no outlet here.
This stupid blog no longer servers my purpose.
I can’t say what I need to say without it somehow coming back to bite me in the ass. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Isn’t that what a privacy setting is for?
Trying to let go of my negativity while filtering my words is a fruitless effort.
And here I am, questioning every decision I’ve ever made.
Lucky No. 7….
You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness…..