So life continues at home literally like I was never away. My illicit affair with the washing machine and tumble dryer. The undying addiction for each other, making up for lost time. That welcoming smell of damp unwashed towels, the bravery that only mothers can handle reaching into the bottom of neglected laundry baskets. The slight smell of damp mixed with odourous stinky kids rooms because no one thought to open windows during the day. Ah, home. The kids didn’t even make the weekends easy for me, they didn’t think to, break me in gently. This weekend was all fights and arguments. And when the modem played up and wifi wasn’t consistent I think we all considered drinking the kool aid!
Don’t get me wrong, glad to be back. But my oh my, so easy to see how I got stuck in a rut in the first place. Letting the pressures and lack of space pull me down. So many anxieties, so many considerations but trying to balance the family and contain my own shit is hard work. Everything is a battle and I’m thinking for the family, about the family but trying to make sure I don’t fall into the depths of despair and all of my symptoms don’t pop up at a really inconvenient time. So many potential triggers, and running on not a great deal of sleep either.
Nightmares and panic are there. Waking up feeling that horrible shortness of breath and fear and a period of disorientation.
Still can’t explain what’s going on but not long now, and it will all make much more sense. I just feel so alone at the moment.
My husband is doing his best. He looked after the kids while I was away and I know he’s always open to talking to me if I need to. But I’m tired of having to articulate my fears and thoughts. And I feel he might be a bit too complacent, I know the situation, I know your story, therefore I get it. He’s never said that of course. But can a person get complacent or bored or another’s trauma? Can a person become so densensitised? Or as situations change can they not realise that feelings, although similar are not exactly the same?
Maybe it’s just me. I bore myself. And I’ve said before, life would be much easier if someone told me how I should and shouldn’t feel. Then I wouldn’t need to analyse it.
I’m taking each day as it comes. It feels less overwhelming. Although I’m aware I’m not really ‘living.’ Again it would be good if someone could construct my day, but then likely I would get anxious or rebel against it feeling controlled.
There is no hope!
Who said time was a great healer? Time has done nothing for me, despair, anger, sadness, hurt, confusion, loneliness, frustration – it has all slowly eroded my soul. The shadows have grown darker, the nights have gotten more terrifying, and my courage and belief in myself dwindle with each passing minute. Time hasn’t healed me. Time has slowly pulled me apart.