My truth. My life.

Punching Bag

I woke up this morning happy.  Even the blaring of “Piano Riff” on my alarm clock didn’t shake that.  Usually getting up at 5 to be at work at 6 puts a cramp in my day.  But not today.  It was chilly in our bedroom so the warm water of the shower engulfed me.  Today was going to be a good day.  I just knew it.

Leaving the house that early is easy.  Everyone is asleep.  I didn’t have to hear any “mom, get me this”  “mom, can I do this?”  The sound of quiet was making my morning that much better.

When I got in my car I realized that I was low on gas.  Very low.  I’m still not sure how that happened considering yesterday I had 1/4 of a tank left.  Still that was not going to ruin my day.  I managed to make it to the gas station with a smile on my face.  Then I splurged.  McDonalds large sweet tea was calling my name.  I went through the drive thru and headed to work.

I entered my office happy and chatting with a co-worker about yet another day at the animal hospital.  Happy.  It was the last time of the day that I would have a nice conversation without getting yelled at.  It was 6:00am.

Then, things changed.  It became clear to me that even though I planned to have a good day, everyone I would encounter felt differently.  This is what I learned.  If you over sleep and miss an appointment.  It is my fault.  If your pet is sick and I can not diagnose it over the phone, I am useless.  When it comes to your pets, Dr. Internet knows more than me.  If I interrupt you by calling at the wrong time, I am a jerk and I deserve your wrath.  If a car cuts in front of me and causes me to slam on my brakes, I need to be pulled over.  If my drink is flat, It’s probably something wrong with my taste buds.

I consider myself lucky.  I have an adoring husband and 3 beautiful daughters.  But today, I considered going to a psychiatrist.  I havent been to one since I was a lot younger.  I havent needed to.  I have a stong marriage, and although we have our differences we always work through them.  So there has never been a need there.  I have Tourette’s syndrome.  It’s a struggle but I’ve always worked through it. But now, I need to know.  What is it about me that makes me a punching bag?  Is it written across my forehead?  Is it written on my back?

What is it about me?


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7 thoughts on “Punching Bag

  1. Sometimes I feel like someone has stuck a sign on my back… “Kick me!” It’s them, not you. They are the jerks.

  2. Don’t let the bastards drag you down, Deana. Hang onto your happy, especially that part where no one was awake first thing in the morning. Love that 😉

  3. Lance on said:

    I want to see that dress on you.

  4. I think sucker is written across my forehead. Too often I feel like a punching bag. I am a doormat, I let people walk all over me. If it rains it is also my fault. As if! You have some great poetry on your blog as well.

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