A Different Kind Of Butterfly

It seems the only butterflies I ever feel are that of heartbreak. That dancing breathless tickle in the upper left side of my chest that kills me as I realize everything is so incredibly fucked up and wrong. Going off my medication, I knew I would struggle with the highs and lows. What I didn't anticipate was the return of the physical pain. I forgot what it felt like to be heartbroken. Antidepressants make you feel invincible in that way I suppose. I was completely bulletproof for a while. It was sooo nice. 

When I think about only having one child though, I get those sad butterflies of heartbreak. I want my son to have a sibling. The world is cold and cruel. Family is one of the greatest gifts you can have. I feel like I'm letting him down by bringing him into such a fucked up world all alone. P was not the best father though. C has decided against another child. So here I am, just sad and alone, having to sit beside my choices of subpar men. 

I've had multiple job offers come in and I am tempted to just start working two jobs, put money up, and try for a donor baby, aside from getting my son into the best private school I can, of course. It's the only thing that makes me happy thought wise. My life is being dictated my lazy men. I can't do It anymore. I want a nice house, a fat stack of cash, a reliable car and children. I don't need a husband. They're overrated. I don't know what's so fucking complicated about my life goals that men cant be on board. So, as usual, I'm going to have to roll up my sleeves like a fucking "would be" man, and just do everything myself. 

I don't have time to let anyone else dictate my life. I'm not happy. I need to change it. No more butterflies of heartbreak.