Posts I never post….

Do you ever pour your heart out into a post and never post it? Just save it to a draft and stuff the feelings down? I do.

Maybe she’s right? Mother knows best?

I can’t let go of the text my mom sent about 6 months ago saying she wasn’t disappointed in ME, but that I don’t have the support I need to SHINE. I keep mulling the word over, trying to figure out what exactly I would need to do to shine, and I just was coming up empty until tonight,

Hubby and I were watching a movie and two people were cliff diving. I made an offhand comment that I would love to do that, that it looks like fun, but in the next breath said I would be too scared. I said “I am too scared to go out in our yard at night” and hubby said “you’re too scared to go out in the daylight”.

The sad thing is, he’s right. And maybe that’s what my mom means. I’m don’t live my life, I’m too scared of everything. I merely get by from day to day, trying not to mess things up too badly. And in all the “getting by”, I never live.

I’m too afraid to fail. I’m too afraid I’ll do something wrong. I’m too afraid germs will make me sick. I’m too afraid of screwing up my kids. Fear runs my life. I can’t plan everything when I leave my bubble so something unpredictable might happen, and that thing might be bad, and bad is… bad.

My brain instantly goes to worst-case scenario, and then all the ways to prevent that. It’s exhausting. So it’s easier to just not live than to risk it all…. and therefore I will never shine.

Well at least I think I have figured that problem out. Can’t have unclosed loops.

Broken…. A Poem

Please, don’t judge, there is really no structure to this poem, but it’s not a story, or a “post”.  But tonight was a really bad night, and I let my pen just scrawl along. 

Broken.

I feel the familiar “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh” of the blood in my ears.

My heart is racing, pulse is 120.

There’s a buzzing in my body.

I’m sweating, everywhere, even my legs.

My brain is going to dark, dark, places.

I want to see the red blood coming out of my arms.

I want to see the raised skin of the scratch.

I want to feel the sting and burn of the cuts.

I want my brain to stop.

FAT, UGLY, HIDEOUS, GROSS.

Bad mom, yeller, ineffective.

Bad wife, “makes” hubby do all the cooking and clean

up from meals, undermines his discipline.

LOSER, CAN’T FINISH ANYTHING, STUPID

Will never change.

Always a victim.

Don’t SHINE, am a disappointment.

Not good enough, NEVER enough.

Undermines my own dreams.

I sit, tears brimming, threatening to spill over.

I sit at my desk all the things I used to use to cut at my disposal.

But I can’t cut, no matter how much I want to, I’m on blood thinners. I don’t want to ruin my kids’ life any more than I already have.

So I push it down, down, down.  The whooshing, shaking, and sweating gets worse. My head pounds too.

How long can I do this? How long will I have to do this?

No one is going to save me, or the little girl inside.  Together we will drown and choke on our labels; the labels of rejection and the labels we give ourselves.  Never truly happy; never truly whole—

Broken.

A Million Dreams…

Somedays are better than others. The past week or so has been rough.  I’m sad again.  It’s a life of ups and downs. But I don’t really want to get into that today because there is something else on my mind…

Today, my little one was walking around singing the song “A Millions Dreams” from The Greatest Showman movie.  She’s never seen the movie so I had to ask her where she heard it, and she told me our friend’s car.  This friend drove her to and from Vacation Bible School last week.  I smiled.

I love that song. But I love even more that she loves that song. To me, that song epitomizes her. She is a dreamer, a free spirit, just an all around pretty awesome person.

I look forward to seeing her grow, I hope she never stops dreaming.  I want to see her dreams realized in big ways.

There is something about her, when I look at her, I see it.  I see her whole life laid out in front of me.  I just hope she has the courage I never did. But no matter what her dreams are, what they become or who she becomes she will always shine brighter than the sun. Always.

For those who haven’t heard the song: https://youtu.be/-rxgAh1bnHU

 

Disruption…

Nothing has changed in 23 years. Back then I was the disruption to my husband’s family. I was the one ruining it. I was told time and time again. At one point fairly early into our relationship, sometime after we were engaged but nowhere near our wedding, I tried to end it. If I was ruining his life I wanted to fix it… In the parking lot of a grocery store, I tried to end things and give him back the ring. I’ve never seen him more sad, and more hurt. He made me promise to never do that again. He assured me I wasn’t ruining their family.

If you looked at highlight reels from 1995 to 2018 you would see all the times I was a disruption, not good enough, not good enough wife, not good enough hostess, not a good enough mother to stop autism, ADHD, anxiety, bipolar in my kids…. the list goes on. But tonight my husband was told “mental illness is a ‘disruption'” specifically my mental illness. And I should be better now.

What? Like it’s that easy? I snap my fingers and I’m cured! But I don’t, so I must like being like this. Like not wanting to ever leave the house, like sleeping all day, like being stuck in OCD loops and feeling out of control. I must like being so sick of germs I’m afraid to hug my kids, or let them sit with me in my chair. Yes I enjoy it all… could you all feel the sarcasm dripping there?

It’s always been about this person, it will always be about this person and I will never measure up. This person has always known just where to sucker punch me.

Struggles

Ha e you ever noticed when you are having a rough day/week that it seems like more and more and more crap piles on top making it and even worse week?

Tonight it was an argument with hubby about the fact I felt we are egging too much (what?). And an article on Facebook talking about how when our kids are infants and toddlers we think we will never be this tired again…. and then they become teenagers and the physical exhaustion we felt as moms of young kids is nothing compared to the mental exhaustion of having preteens and teenagers.

I have already been feeling the tug of Father Time on my family. The days of snuggles, and making them giggle with a silly face, them falling asleep in my arms, being their whole world, knowing everything (in their eyes)….all of it vanishes too soon.

Time is not fair. Our babies are little for such a short period of time- but the cruelest part? We don’t realize how short until one day they aren’t little anymore. And there’s no redo button. That time is gone in the blink of an eye. Soon they are sullen, eye rolling teenagers and school-aged no longer need you as much children.

This is just reason number 1000000000000 that I’ve cried today. I hate weeks like this- it’s like your brain searches for reasons to torture you….

My Apologies….

Despite my best efforts to keep up with the blogs I follow, I haven’t been very good at it.  There are days I am barely good at getting out of bed.  Please forgive me, and know I am reading as often as I can, and you are all in my thoughts and prayers.