|courtesy of helene in between|
I have made a failure of myself. This last week I've been fumbling with life much less blogging. I wanted to have things in the queue and two posts a week. I could barely get one up last week and this week there are none. I missed out on my #KCACOLS linky which I was doing moderately well on - considering I'm very new and unknown. But more than that I had multiple mental breakdowns.
Most people, when writing about their bad week, do end up feeling better and I guess the act of writing or typing is cathartic. I do feel that it's a good way to release your personal mental vomit to a website that is seen by certain people. Having written in the past for a long time I realise these things are not read and are not taken seriously even by me. I have found that my words fall on no ears and I feel more isolated than I let myself think.
I am very tired of talking to people who suddenly go into problem-solving mode when I just need someone who's going to understand. I need someone who won't look at me completely baffled as to why I'm crying. I need to be able to cry and leave all this mess of emotions with that person and not feel guilty about it afterwards. I need to remember not everything is my fault. I need to remember that feelng guilty won't fix things, but doing things will.
I am sad. I feel sad and frustrated and tired everyday. Sometimes I feel tired in a good way - that today was good and although I am shattered it was worth it. But most of the time I feel tired and miserable. I feel like I have done nothing in the way of feeling tired. Why do I feel tired when so many others have much busier lives than me?
Why do I have the right to feel the way I do when there are single, working mums around? When some mums homeschool, have toddlers, have 2, 3, 4, 10 kids? Why do I feel tired when I don't even own the house I'm living in and have an abundance of help? Why?
I don't know what the answer is. I have never wanted to linger about the reason behind guilty thoughts or sad thoughts, tired thoughts and addressing my feelings that have the right to be addressed.
To be mindful about what I feel in the day is not something I like to do. I don't like to do it because I am afraid of the answer. I am afraid that I am right and that I am not worth my feelings. I am afraid that I have something wrong with me and I won't and don't know how to fix it. I am afraid I won't even try to fix it.
How can I try and fix something that has infested itself in me for so long?
There was a period in my life where I felt calmer, happier. When things were generally looking up and when these intrusive thoughts were at its minimal - still there, but I could handle them better. Why could I handle them better? What changed? The sudden independency of my child? I'm not sure. Again, I don't want the answer - what if I can't get it back again? What if I'm not meant to have it back? What if I have become so self destructive that I won't try to get it back?
This last week has showered bricks over me that I can feel each painful sharp edge, flat smack and dizzying smash. I feel like it has rained upon me and I have tried to ignore it and deal with it to the point that I handed my baby over to my husband and curled up into a ball in hysterics. Never has it happened to me in the day. Never have I gone to the bathroom for my breakdown.
I talked about this in a bit more detail with a very close family member. Even then I couldn't even talk about it seriously. I laughed about it as if it was just a slight hormonal tip - as if I had a touch of PMS even though I knew and did say it definitely wasn't.
I don't know what to do about this anymore. I don't feel to bother my family most of the time - they don't deserve that. I don't want health visitors breathing down my neck even though I had a very good first one for the first four months - she has since left. I have contemplated a GP appointment. I have contemplated anti-depressants.
I don't want those though I just want it to go away. I want all of this to go away. I want to shed it like the skin of a snake. Like the skin you peel off an onion. I want to take it all and shove it in the deep, dark depths of the kitchen bin and toss it into the rubbish truck.
Even now as typing this I wonder whether I should press 'Publish' or shall I press 'Save' and keep it off a blog that is quite pristine and new and light and fluffy. Should I allow my personal thought waste in a place that it may be remembered when I so deeply want to forget?
Looking back on the post when that I made promising I would write what I want to write it leaves me conflicted.
For now I will leave it here. There's no telling over tomorrow.