Where to even begin this? It seems I have forgotten to how even start . . . how to put my thoughts out there so that they no longer consume my every waking moment.
It appears that I have made a rather impactful mistake, a mistake that is becoming harder and harder to ignore.
Ignore . . . that is an excellent choice of words because that has been the word of the summer. Ignore the budding anger. Ignore the feelings of worthlessness, of loneliness, of discomfort. Ignore the twichy feelings that also hint at something deep going on. Ignore. IGNORE.
I fear I can no longer ignore the fact that I am not okay.
I am not okay.
I have allowed myself to forget about my needs and now I am paying the price. I have not made it a priority to write. I have not made it a priority to get to kickboxing. My focus on eating has become more on what sort of crap can I shovel in and less on what is good for my body. I have placed everything and anything I can find before myself and now I am drowning in that decision.
By putting everything else before me, I have managed to find myself in a place where I struggle to connect, or even want to connect, with the kidlets. With Brad working all summer, vacation has meant me and the kids . . . needless to say this whole disconnect thing made that time difficult. If I am honest with myself, I struggled to enjoy any aspect of my time off.
Certainly I put on the face . . . you know the one . . . the one that hides all of the inner shit and tells those outside of my head that I am just a-okay. Hell, my dad even mentioned that I seemed much happier this summer. That was a strange comment to take in given the fact that it was all I could do to not run and hide away from everyone. Yeah, not so happy.
I have been what I have tried so hard to not be . . . the angry, shouty mom who would rather be anywhere else in the world than where I was. Their needs, their requests feel like demands to me and I push back. Their innocent love of all things mommy has suffocated me. With each tug at my shirt I feel myself fighting to pull further away.
I am scared. I cannot go back again. I am trying to refocus, make use of the coping skills that helped pull me out the last time. I am writing out my thoughts. I am heading to the gym tonight. I am making better food choices. I cannot go back.
Why yes it appears that I have become a cautionary tale for all those who, for whatever reasons, forget to ever put their needs to the front of the line at least once in a while. I so wish that I wasn't.