Resurrection

So guess who just skidded back through the gates of hell and into the fire? THAT’S RIGHT! The BITCH is BACK! I’m kind of glad, too. Even though, I must admit, I had hoped I’d never be back. This Bitch has big fucking issues, and I don’t think anything will ever be permanent in Bitch Land. FUCK.

‘Tis the season for yuletide, merriment, gift giving, stress, depression, and a steaming hot pile of shit from the past. Open up, honey – and try to hold your breath because this stinks. It’s Christmas Eve in my little corner of Hell. I’d rather be hanging a noose for myself instead of hanging stockings. Now chill you jumpy readers. This Bitch isn’t flinging herself into the void just yet. I said “rather” not “am.” Truthfully, a way out feeeels goooood to my soul. Damn those pesky attachments of life. Holding this Bitch back from the great inevitable and all isn’t much of a gift to ME. Honestly, though, it’s too easy. I DESERVE to suffer. I deserve the pain and misery. The G.D. MOTHER FUCKING tears. I own them. I earned them.

So, you might be sitting there thinking to yourself, “Self, what is wrong with the Anxiety Bitch now?” Shiiit. Thanks for asking. One Word: REGRET. You know it. You hate it. I hate it. Ain’t it a bitch? Add in some holiday blues, MDD, and a visit from the Mother Fucker (yeah…the borderline personality vag that pushed out this Bitch will soon be parked on my favorite chair, drinking my therapy…RumChata White Russian anyone?) and you get one upset BITCH.

The sob story is that many years ago, I had to re-home my 2 cats. I was in a VERY BAD situation, like…dangerous…and they couldn’t fairly live like that. It was BAD. It wasn’t RIGHT. It wasn’t FAIR to THEM. And, as hard as I tried and tried and tried, I couldn’t find anyone to take them. Family, friends, rescues…NO FUCKING ONE WOULD HELP ME OR THEM. I gave them to an old friend {who I lost touch with} that had a farm. I handed them to her, and walked away to deal with my shit. I have missed them every single day since that night. Every. Single. Day. Like a parent mourning children I have mourned them. And 4 days ago…you get that…?…4…days…ago…it dawned on me that they spent winters in the barn. They may have been cold. What if they wondered where I was? Why they were now outdoor cats? Why did we leave them? And this Bitch has sobbed almost constantly every since the light bulb went off. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

I feel…distraught. I feel unfit. I think I found my former friend on social media, and I have reached out to her asking about the cats. So far, I haven’t heard back. But the guilt I feel is all-consuming. I’m broken. Horrible. Cruel. And now…it’s public. This Bitch is a serious PIECE OF SHIT. I can’t sleep. I can’t shop. I can’t shower. I’m hating myself so much. And…now you know. So – Merry Christmas Eve. May you have a picture post card perfect holiday. I’m going to spend mine in bed, bawling.

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