This is an adult post with adult language and themes.
Oh the list – lists rather – of things I must reconcile myself to. every morning I wake up with this damned depression and anxiety swimming around in my blood, clogging up my grey matter and pushing out all of the energy and light in my life. I wake up angry almost every day. Being fucked in the head is not fair. But as my friend Katy says – if life were fair, I’d be dead. So, I can’t really complain.
It changes all the time – I’m not great at coping in general – but here are some of the things I’m trying to reconcile in my head (and in my life) today.
I only have the strength right now to try and be a good mother, with a little left over to try and fix my head. There is nothing left for my friends, for my family, for my boyfriend. AND YET there is no way that I can survive and be the mother or the person I need to be without them. How long will they keep loving me while getting less and less of me in return?
The depression tells me to stay in bed, it’s all pointless, it’s all impossibly hard and trying is ridiculous. AND YET the anxiety tells me that if I don’t fix everything right now I will be left to die alone, I will permanently damage my child, time is ticking away ever faster and I have to move, Move, MOVE or the world will spin out of control!
I miss my physical relationship with Dork Dad. It is a hole in my gut that twists in on itself and writhes with loneliness and emptiness. I want to be held and comforted, filled and renewed, to fall sleep in a tangle of limbs and forget where I end and he begins. AND YET I cannot hold still long enough to be touched, really touched in any romantic way. My body still doesn’t feel like it’s mine yet and his sexual wistfulness feels like yet another demand to share a body that still doesn’t seem to be in my control at all.
I cannot talk about the things that tear me apart on a daily basis. They shred my heart and leave my soul in tatters around my feet. I kick them out of the way to make room for tiny hands and feet to crawl in crazy eights around my ankles. My days are spent reeling from one must do to the next and praying that somehow I am doing right by the tiny life entrusted to our care. AND YET I desperately want to be heard. I need to know that someone out there can see the pain and hear the screams of and fear that I only let out in my dreams.
There are things that cannot be reconciled.
Do You Get Mama Mail?
Start each week with an email reminder that you are worthy and deserving of care. Get practical tips to make self-care a part of your life.