I can’t count how many times lately that I’ve said or written or thought, “I’m exhausted“. People keep looking for a reason. Even I looked too. It isn’t lack of sleep, because I’ve never slept so my body is used to that. It isn’t how I’m eating. It isn’t the amount of exercise I’m getting. I couldn’t pin point it until this morning. For a while I thought I was stuck in a 5 month black hole. But now I’m beginning to realize it’s been a series of holes. In and out in and out in and out.
I realized there have been a few days where I would say, “I feel like I am coming out of it,” only what was really happing is I had come out of it, for about two days and then I would fall back in. I now understand this constant up and down is what is exhausting me.
My mind is in a mental cage match, I feel like I’m being mentally body slammed every ten minutes. I go in and out so fast I know longer know the difference between the two. Just when I feel my self coming out BAMN. I feel like I’ve been tossed into a well. When I look down at my fingers I expect to see them bloodied because I feel like I’m constantly trying to climb out, and just when I reach the edge I fall back in, and right now I feel like I’m drowning.
It is that right there that is exhausting my mind and body. Talking abut it is exhausting. Knowing people think nothing is wrong is exhausting. Trying to hold it together and not sit crying for hours is exhausting. Attempting to complete every day mundane tasks is exhausting. Trying to draw the line between having control of this, and become a bad mom, wife, friend is exhausting. Trying to keep it to myself so that I don’t bring anyone else down is the most exhausting part of all.
Fighting with myself to write this was hard. I don’t want to write this and then hear the questions, and see the looks, or hear the voices in other peoples heads when they feel like there is nothing really wrong. But I can’t not write it because wrestling with this all alone is impossible. These thoughts are engulfing me and swallowing me like a tidal wave.
I hate being the blog that depresses people, but at times I feel it isn’t fair for me to carry this alone. Then I think when I’m not being funny I’m letting down those like me who read blogs searching for comic relief in their lives.
I’m loaded with things I should be doing and then when I don’t do them I feel like I’m failing. I’ve been trying to choose things simply for me and I’m left feeling selfish, and as if I have let the world down because I can’t do it all, or remember it all.
My kids are my saving grace. Their innocence and carefree attitude gives me hope. I would love to some day feel a glimmer of the happiness they feel. That is why I feel as if I’m letting down the universe when I lose my temper with Brandon. Because in essence my children are my universe. My husband is a simple man, so it takes a lot to let him down, but these kids, they don’t know any thing besides 100%. Kids don’t understand, “hang on mommy just needs to relax.” Kids don’t understand that saying mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom every fucking second of the day is actually enough to drive a person insane. It is because of this I feel like I can’t even get mad at him.
This weekend there was a point (when he flushed his jammies down the toilet to be exact) where I just had to walk in my room and scream. The sad part though is I wasn’t screaming because I was mad. Because in reality I thought it was pretty funny and I wanted to take a picture. I was screaming because knowing that I had to clean it, and stop him, and handle one more fucking situation suddenly became so overwhelming I felt it was either I scream in my room or I flush him down the toilet too.
I’ve been trying so hard to be better to Brandon. Trying to talk to him rather then yell. Trying to rationalize with him. Trying to understand, he’s only two, he’s going to get in trouble a lot. He doesn’t understand anger. He doesn’t understand long explanations. He doesn’t understand people need to work, or cook, or do things. All he knows is that he wants something and he wants it now. He isn’t old enough to know anything different, and I really try and understand that.
The mental and physical exhaustion is killing me. It’s making it so hard to function, and yet the insomnia keeps me up at night making sleep impossible. My mind never sleeps, and I never sleep.
I don’t know where to go from here. I want to sit in a closet and cry and cry and cry. Huge convulsing ugly tears. But I can’t. I have to be a mom, and a wife, and a friend, and a daughter, and doing that sort of thing just makes it harder on those around me. So I put on a happy face in order to protect them.
Only, now I’m wondering, when am I supposed to protect me?