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Special is in the eye of the beholder.


Today I am home waiting for the cat to scream at the door, the girl to come home, and mom to come back from a funeral. My cousin Marleen, she died of stomach cancer a week ago. I find it bizarre that she’s gone. I hadn’t seen her since her moms funeral when I was in high school,

I really cannot remember that much about her, other than that she was tall, slender and pretty. Well to me she was. I don’t remember details, in all honesty I probably wouldn’t have known her if I saw her on the street. But I am still sorry she is gone from us.
It occurs to me, that she however was a very special girl. She worked extremely hard. I can remember her patching her jeans 3-4 times and then going out and buying her kids new jeans.

But I am beginning to wonder if she knew how special and important she actually is? Self worth is a very scary thing. Half of us, myself included, don’t believe we are worth anything.

Okay actually I don’t feel that I am. Unless I am able to keep myself constantly feeling as if I am bolstered, then I find myself going down into this depression that is hard to cope with. I find a hard time finding my self-worth.

I was raised Mormon. Self worth is something they talk about a lot, especially with young women. We are the chosen vessels to bring children into the world so they can receive their earthly bodies so they can live in heaven forever.

Okay, so right there, 90% of my idea of self-worth is how “good” of a mother I am. How many children I have raised, given birth too and what have you. I was damned lucky to be able to have the one child I have. Poly Cystic Ovaries made damned sure I wasn’t going to be able to have any more. Which means according to that, my self-worth is minimal because I only have one daughter.

Oh gosh I love that child she’s my entire world and she makes my day complete. Every single day. It just makes me wonder if I’m thinking that she isn’t enough? That I should have other children just to make myself more worthy?

Gods fucking damnit that doesn’t even make sense in my head.

And while I am on it, what the FUCK is passive voice and how do I get it out of my writing? It keeps saying. “Passive voice” well hoo fucking rah. I can’t figure out any other way to word the things I word. That probably means I won’t be a writer, but I’m writing now. It’s a crazy paradox isn’t it?

Now I sound like the big bang theory….

argh.

bugger it. I have no point with my writing. I’m just writing to vomit this stuff from my head so it doesn’t stay in there any more.

Bollocks

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