I’m fed up. This week has been shit. The kids have been hard work. Every morning we’ve run late because of the same arguments and the same lost clothes/lunchboxes/shoes etc. I had that lousy psychiatrist appointment which knocked the wind out of my sails. I’ve got stuff going on in England which I can’t write about yet in my blog. But it’s causing me great stress. I’m still in February so I’m still feeling the pinch of the anniversary.
My husband keeps on heaping on the pressure about university, are you excited? Blah blah. Excited? I can hardly get out of fucking bed in the morning- what makes you think I have energy to be excited?
I’m getting migraines a lot.
Oh, on the plus side I finally went to the GP about my hands. It’s a skin infection and I’m on antibiotics. She was a bit surprised I hadn’t gone sooner as it was so bad. Ah well.
So, I don’t sleep well, I have bad nightmares. I wake up tired, I deal with a gaggle of moody kids, I manage to get them to school. I do what I can to function, to be normal. Even though I’m caught up with anxiety and panic. And then I’m exhausted by the afternoon.
I have no strength, no focus and I’m emotional.
So I fear failure going back to university. My mind is so slow, so garbled. I worry about being in a large building with lots of people. I worry about the added stress. So no, I’m not fucking excited I’m terrified.
And yes, I am moody. Because I’m fighting this battle here. I have these inner demons. I’m scared and reliving things that no one else can imagine. I’m alone. I’m tired, I’m fed up. I can’t just mentally put things to one side. I’m living this all the time and it’s exhausting.
Just because I’m not smashing the furniture up and screaming like a banshee on the roof doesn’t mean I’m not imagining doing it. Doesn’t mean I’m not close to doing it.
I am reminded often that I’m alone on this journey. I’m reminded often that no one really gets me at all.