A lot has happened since I wrote last, though nothing too earth shattering. Mostly, I'm just learning (yes, just now, at 2 weeks shy of 32) that this is it. This is my life. I'm tired of waiting for things to change and wishing for what could be.
I've spent years feeling unsatisfied that we don't live near our family, that they don't visit much, that we can't visit more, and that the effort expended on our part is reciprocated by only a few. ( Thank you for coming to see us, D&C) I've spent a lot of time feeling bitter, and a lot of time trying not to care and most of the time still caring VERY much and trying not to stop. Trying not to grow hard.
I'd like to throw my hands up and say that I'm giving myself permission to not give a f*ck anymore, the road runs both ways and all that... but I know that's not going to happen. I have always had a soft and giving heart and it's one of my better qualities if I do say so myself.
So, yes, it hurts when family forgets my children's birthdays, again. It hurts when they don't visit. It burns when they don't make an effort to see us when we trek halfway across the country. It's like rubbing salt in a wound when I see the relationships that the other children have with their grandparents that mine don't. I love it for them but hate it for my own babies. I try not to be jealous, but I am.
It'ssucks to feel like people don't care about you as much as you care about them... so, yes, it stings when the conversation turns to politics and a screaming match ensues and THAT is the most conversation we've had in a year. Do I care about political issues? Yes. But not as much as I care about how I treat the family sitting next to me.
After a solid 8 days of family time, I've come to realize that where I am is where I am supposed to be. I've cried over it enough. I've tried to make it work out in my head. I'm realizing that it would not be as I would wish it.
Do I long to be able to run over for Saturday night dinner? Yes, but we can't so there's no use whining about it anymore. I'm not done visiting family or making an effort, by any means. I'm just trying to come to a peace that this is how it is. Not stop caring, just care a little less. Otherwise, the bitterness will ruin me.
The week after a family visit is never a good time for me to try and evaluate my mental health. I always come up short. (Spoiler: I'm about to anyway.)
The problem is that I am treading water and getting tired. My husband, bless him, thinks I'm amazing and can handle everything. I appreciate the compliment but superwoman I am not.
I'm feeling really depressed. I hate to even say it out loud... does that make it real? Does it sound like a cry for sympathy? That's the last thing I want, really. Sympathy makes me cry.
The daily headaches are back and nausea sometimes too. I feel all black inside. I should go to the doctor.
I want my kids to be homeschooled but I desperately need a break. It's wonderful for them, but I'm not sure it's wonderful for me. Today it doesn't feel like it. They weren't even bad, I just couldn't cope with this headache and D working overtime again (still), and just every. other. little. thing. piled on top of me.
It's not fair to have to do this alone, and now I understand the words of a friend who warned me that it was hard and I would need help. Anxiety and depression seem to take turns with me. I don't want to struggle with them but here they are. Staring me in the face.
Maybe I will feel better next week and maybe I won't.
Maybe I won't even publish this anyway.
Maybe I will feel fantastic tomorrow and be quite sorry that I wrote this with a lingering migraine after a hard day.
