I'm full of shame. Shame has taken over my life. It's ruining me, it's slowly eating me alive.

Damn it, now I'm crying. I should stop writing now, because I don't want to cry. I don't want to feel the hurt. I want to talk about farts and vaginas and be all "Ha! Ha! Ha!" I hate feeling this way.

I am ashamed of where I live. I feel grateful that I have a roof over my head, but this house that I DO NOT OWN is old and ugly. The kitchen is falling apart. It still has the original cabinets and they are PRESSED WOOD, people. And the counter tops are just as bad. We never invite people over because I'm so embarassed that we live here. All of my friends own houses, beautiful, new houses and I can only imagine what they think of us and our ugly little RENTAL house.

I never imagined that 14 years into our married life we'd be living in this piece of shit rental house. I'm so ashamed. I feel so pathetic.

I'm ashamed that we're always broke. I knew things would be tight when I decided to quit my job to stay home with Gabriella and the boys, but I chose to quit because being home raising my THREE children was more important to me than extra money.

I didn't expect our rent would be raised $300 and that gas would get so damn expensive and that we'd be spending a buttload of money at the doctor's office every month because my baby girl would be cursed with asthema problems and that my husband would be denied a raise, TWICE and that I'd not have any money left at the end of the month to buy my husband the work boots he desperately needs because his are falling apart.

Meanwhile, everyone around me is taking vacations, buying new cars, getting diamond rings and new plasma tv's and HA! I can't even go out to dinner for my anniversary!

I know, it's a choice I made and one I have to live with, but the shame of being so damn broke all of the time is more than I can handle sometimes.

I know I made the right decision, because my kids are more important than anything money can buy, but there are days where I close my eyes and remember what it was like when we actually had money left over at the end of the month.

I am starting to feel angry and resentful towards people who love to tell me how "lucky" I am to get to be a stay at home mom.

I mean, I feel lucky that I get to spend the days with my children, that I can go to their school functions, that I can take them to basketball practice, that I am here when they get home from school, that I have not missed a moment or milestone with my baby girl. I feel so damn lucky, but really? "Luck" has nothing to do with it. It was a choice we made, and a little thing called SACRIFICE.

I feel so "left out" in my life. I feel like an outcast, like some kind of lowlife.

I can't even see through the tears to type anymore. And I can only imagine how whiny this sounds. I'm sick of whining about it and not having any solutions.

Sometimes I feel angry towards my husband. Why doesn't he try to get a job that pays more? Or why doesn't he demand a raise? Why doesn't he DO SOMETHING TO BRING MORE MONEY INTO THIS HOUSE. (Because, see? I'm pathetic and find ways to blame other people for my problems!)

I realize that's totally unfair of me. He works his ass off everyday, never missing a day of work. He's a good man. I understand that those feelings are irrational and come from a place of desperation.

I feel lost and cluecless how to make things better.

I'm not getting a job only to fork over hundreds of dollars to a stranger to raise my daughter. I've cut everything out of my budget that I don't need.

I've made appointments at a local college to take courses in criminal justice, only to not show up for those appointments because HA! I can't afford college, my son needs braces!

The shame I feel is overwhelming.

If I'm being honest, I think one of the reasons I hang onto this blog is because it's the one place in my life where people think good things about me. I get emails and comments saying things like "you're funny!' "you're a great mom!" "You're so strong!" and it feels good to hear, but the sad truth is that you only think those things because you don't really know me. If you did, you might not say all of the nice things that you say. You'd probably understand why I feel so ashamed.