Beating Myself Up

I don't need my father to beat me.
I do a good job of it on my own.

I didn't get anything on my list done yesterday.  In fact, when I left home, I did not get back until the wee hours.

It was one of those "avoidance days."  

You know the kind. Ignore it and goes away.

What lies we take on to fool ourselves into thinking we will feel better about ourselves if we come back later!

Instead, I ended up at thrift stores and came home with things that I felt would be cool to have. And then I ended up at the casino.

My life is out-of-control. 

There are so many things that I need to look at and share with others, but I have to compartmentalize.  I can't even share it all here, because I would run the risk of people knowing exactly who I am. I can't let that happen.

This is one reason that I prefer going to work. Work also gets me out, and gives me a way to avoid the rest of it.  I prolong going "home." (I struggle with writing that word because it does not feel much like home.)

When I work, I feel that I have purpose. I am around people. They see the good that I do and how I help others. They see the "put together" me.

If they only knew....

...the "real" me isn't so good after all. 

Copyright ©2015 The Anonymous Hoarder

Note: As I was looking for a picture to put with the title, which I wrote before starting this.  The picture (from Pixabay, search perimeters "beating") grabbed my attention and I decided to use it. The caption I used took me completely by surprise and was an eye-opener.