Stranded - Part 1

I've said it before and I'll say it again - there will be swearing and, later in the story, explicit sexy times. Just so we're clear on this one.
Also, I don't live in the US or even have a clear idea where this is supposed to play out, so I don't use town names. I do 911, though, because everyone know what 911 is. 112? No one? Exactly, that's why I use 911. Like people are going to read this and wonder ^^ 

-----------------------------------------------------------

Goddammit, stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere. In the dark. And it's snowing. Excellent. Fucking fantastic.
I get inside my car again, just staring straight ahead. What now? Sit and wait for help or try to find a house?
Right, straying from ones car in the middle of the night in ominous circumstances. That's totally not the way to be killed by mutants with bad breath and a penance for killing things with breasts.
I sigh heavily. One more hour, tops, and I would have been able to lie down in a warm bed, sleeping all my sorrows away. Instead, I'm thinking about where I'd rather freeze to death - in my car or in the woods. If the mutants don't get to me first, I mean. I try the car again, because you never know - Lady Fortuna might give me a break for once. It doesn't even sputter, not one single sound except for the click of the key in the ignition.
Fucking. Fabulous.It's not enough that I had to drive here in the middle of the night because someone couldn't be bothered to let me get off from my last day of work on a decent hour. Or that, when I came home, the movers had already emptied my apartment, so I couldn't even have a steaming mug of tea, because of course I had to be thorough and pack every single item I owned. Except my handbag, of course. Or, when I were to leave - 3.5 minutes after I parked my car by the curb - I'd gotten a fucking parking ticket. No, no. It had to start snowing. And then the car had to magically suck all the diesel out to the magical forest or whatever happened, because it sure as hell shouldn't just sputter and cough like an old lady with a bad smoking habit and then die for no discernible reason. A good thirty minutes from any town. By car. In normal weather. Walking that length would neither be achievable or recommended.
I sigh again, loudly - you can be as dramatic as you like when no one can see you - and bang my head against the steering wheel. Which hurts my forehead. Ow. Then I sag back against my seat. Okay, assess the damages.
Cons: I'm in a car that won't start - if it could at least start, I could keep warm - in the middle of the road, in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, in the cradle of a snowstorm. Possible mutants in the woods.
Pros: My clothes are dry and warm. I've got thick gloves and a cozy hat. I got a torchlight. I got chocolate. Probably more elk and deer in the woods than mutants.
Maybe mutated elk and deer. Or mountain lions. Are there mountain lions in this area? At least bears are asleep in the winter. Right? I should google that.
Google! My phone! Jesus fucking Christ, why didn't I think of my phone the moment the car stalled? I slap my forehead. Still sore, ow. Then I lean across to the back seat to retrieve my bag. Fishing up my phone, I woop as I see it still got battery. I dial emergency - this has to be labeled as an emergency. It rings.
"911, what's your emergency", a placid voice answers.
"Hello! Hi! My name is Nina and I'm stranded in my car between (this town and that town)."
"Are you in any..." And the call disconnects. I look at my phone. Riiiight... That's why I don't use my phone when it's cold. It's not a big fan of cold. It's actually deadly allergic to cold.
"Fucking fuck!" I throw it in the passenger seat. Useless piece of shit technology. But mostly I'm pissed at myself, for being too cheap to buy a new one. Feeling the panic start to rise, I take a deep breath to calm myself. They heard where I was before the call disconnected. They should be on their way. Any minute now.

Three hours later, according to my wristwatch, I'm a shivering mess. Cars are not warm and cozy when they lack those luxurious things, like heating. I've managed to don all the clothes in my bag, but I'm still nowhere near warm enough.
I watch the road again. I did put up triangles after the phone call, but they're not visible anymore. The car is getting alarmingly covered, as well - I've already brushed of the windshield a couple of times. Fuck. No car at all has passed in the time I've stood here. Now it's near to three in the morning and I'm both freezing and sleep deprived. Fuck it. I need to move. I'd rather freeze to death while doing something than sitting idly in my car, waiting for no one. If I believed I'd make it to the morning, I would probably stay inside until a snowplow came through. But I don't think I will make it to the morning if I sit still. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. I grab my dead phone and the two torches I have in the glove box. Steeling myself for the shower of snow, I open the door. Luckily, I've learned from the first time of snow down my neck and have the hood up now. Closing the door as soon as I'm out - I could still get it towed and fixed. Hopefully. If I'm not dead. Panic tries to claw at me again - I'm probably dead before the morning. But I battle it down. It's no use panicking, no one's saving my sorry ass. Squaring my shoulders, getting snow in my eyes in the process, I click on the first torch and start walking along the road.

Writing is loving, right?

I'm going to try something different for a while. It won't be regular updates, but as many as I can manage. As lots of bookworms around the globe, I'm a wannabe-writer. Yes, yes, the shock of the moment is barely containable, but you'll live. And even though my last two posts have been blegh with a dose of blugh, I want this blog to me my little go-to-place for every mood. So, I'm going to publish some of my writing here.

Here's the deal:

• The texts aren't written by a professional - I'm about as far from one as you can get.
• I'll do a fast edit before publishing, but I'm also lazy, so there may be typos or grammatical errors.
• English is not my first language, but since I read mostly in English, I tend to write in it, as well. Still, you will most definitely notice how much my texts lack and I'm always grateful for critic, as long as you're nice about it. 
• I'm doing this for fun
• I write mostly romantic stories
• And not thinking I'm the bomb
• No one's going to read it, anyway
• It's just a place to put my text
• And now I'm out in the fields
• Veering back
• Hello, thanks for reading, I'll wrap up this list now
• There will be explicit language and sexy times in these stories
• Just you wait

Yep, so stay tuned, buckle up, hold on to your horses and all other weird sayings I apparently don't get - I'll be back for some story time!

/ Denise

When stuff's just bad

Why is it so hard to just let things go? To lighten up, be carefree and take responsibilities?
Right now, I should be studying. I'm way behind and what am I doing instead? Scrolling on my phone, listening to an audiobook, writing here. I am the absolute worst. I've got three months left of school and I don't know if I can do it. I don't even know if I can work anymore. I don't know if I can do this at all, anymore. Not in the sense that I don't want to live anymore, just, like... I need to change something. Drastically.

It's not as if I don't like my life. I love my life and I'm so blessed to have a good job, roof over my head, a good husband, great kids. Nothing of that is remotely wrong. So why don't I feel good about it? The problem has to be me. I don't like myself. In fact, I'm probably the least favorite person I know. My husband gets furious when I talk like this, but what he doesn't understand is that I'm serious. I'm not looking for attention, I'm looking for confirmation. I know that I'm worthless at basically everything. Sure, I can do ordinary stuff, like keep the kids fed with not-particularly-nutritious food, clean the house, do my work without getting fired - you know, things that people without any sort of diagnose or disease or other things in life that hinders them, should be able to do. I don't do it well, but I don't have anything that's keeping me from doing it. So, yes, I can keep myself and my kids alive while bringing in money. But then, there are all the other stuff. My brain shuts down and I can't think. I should be studying right now, like I said. But when I start to read the material I should, my thoughts drift, my eyes grow heavy and when I manage to read the words, I just feel so goddamn stupid. Aren't I supposed to be the smart one here? Weren't I smart once? I swear I was. But, I guess my glory years was in my teens, like every other sad sack out there.

Okay, sorry, I'm rambling. Is this therapeutic? I don't know. Sometimes I guess it's just nice to get it out of the system. Like when I'm having a bad day, like today.

Why is this a bad day? It's been a long week and a longer weekend before this glorious Monday. I've had a bunch of people around me for far too long. It doesn't matter that they're my relatives, some days even my family is too much for me to bear. And I hate it! I should be able to spend a couple of days away in a big city, drinking some wine, eating good food, enjoying myself in the company of others - but no, the day after we get home, I'm a complete mess and have no energy left. I should be able to have my relatives over for a couple of nights, spending time with them and my own family - but no, the same day as they leave, I wake up with a huge headache that won't go away and today (the day after) I'm having trouble not breaking down into tears.

To top it all of, my body hurts like the devil. As in, my entire body. Why? Because I'm too much of a effing mess to keep myself healthy, which I need to do for my mind to be healthy, so I spiral even more down the drain.

Sorry, rambling again. Anyway, I really don't have time for this. Think, how easy it is to write a billion word essay on self-pity, but so freaking impossible when it comes to the subject of my paper.

I'm probably going to regret this post in an hour or so.

Take care,
Denise

Anxiety is a bitch, I tell you

Hey, all!

It's been awhile since my last post. Mostly because I don't have the time to sit down and write a long blog post, but also because I've lacked the energy and will to do it. Not sure why I want to write now, but I felt the urge as a thought hit me.

Ever heard of anxiety? Yeah, you most definitely have and you maybe even suffer from it at times.
I didn't think I did until I got diagnosed with fatigue syndrome with a touch of depression after my youngest child was born. Her first year was insane and I basically lived one hour at the time, dreading and yearning for bedtime. She slept really badly and was a child that needed lots of closeness and comfort. I'm not a closeness kind of gal. I need space and during stress I tend to be even less inclined to touch or talk to anyone. Pair that with being a mom of two and a wife and things clash. It's been about three years since my "diagnose" (sounds weird) and I'm still not good. I'm better, but as soon as life starts to get stressful, I'm right back, veering towards the bottom. I, unfortunately, take it out on my family by being prickly and angry and rude. Which makes me more stressed out and more anxious and therefore more prickly and angry and rude. Funny how that works, right?

Anyway, I've been having a stressful couple of months and I'm there, teetering at the edge of the ravine. I'm trying to calm myself, take care of myself. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
One good thing about these last few years is that I've made some retrospect thinking.

Was I always like this or have it come with the exhaustion?

I don't know? I mean, I've always had super low self-esteem, but I can't really remember if anxiety has hit me like this. I got anxious and worried, of course, but not like now. I do think it has to do with my low self-esteem, paired with my fear of being bad at something, that wraps themselves up in a neat little mix to explode into anxiety. I'll talk about that in another post, I just typed it out and it got way too long for this one.
My anxiety is pretty mild. Not to me, of course, but in comparison to others. I generally don't break down and cry, I have hyperventilated maybe thrice in my life and I don't exactly close off from the world. I just get very stuck in my head, have problems concentrating and just feel bad. I'm very, very mean to myself. I mean, I wouldn't even be that awful to my worst enemy. Every time I get into the "foggy place" (that's what it feels like to me) I tell myself to suck it up, I'm worthless and useless and, here's the best part, because it's one of my sorest spots, I'm the absolute worst mom on the planet and my kids will be scarred for life by living with me.

So yeah... I'm a real treat to be with, as you can tell. (Humor is the best defense/deflection, I've been taught, ha).

How do I deal with anxiety? I don't, generally. I stick my head in the sand and wait for it to pass on it's own. But, that is not a recommended method. I've started trying to, if not think positive thoughts, at least not focus on the negative ones. Being my own worst enemy also means I'm the only one to get myself to back the hell off. It's not much, but it's a start. I also try to think about what causes my anxiety and discuss with my husband (and my bestie) what I could do differently. That's a big one, though, and it can feel terrifying and impossible. But, sometimes, just talking about it helps. Also, being alone with a good book and Netflix is good medicine for me.

Take care and thanks for reading my rambling!

/ Denise