I’m fucked. Totally mentally and physically exhausted. I feel like curling up into a ball, getting under my doona and crying my heart out. I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me but I guess it’s been a pretty emotional couple of weeks.
Last week and beautiful young soul in our community took his own life and I can’t stop thinking about it. Today I finished up my 8 week relapse and support program at St Vincent’s and I’m going to miss the incredible people there, not to mention having a purpose beyond my home and children for 2 days per week. Tuesday the segment of Insight I was on was aired and the feedback I have had has been incredible but the whole thing has been pretty emotional — not something I really put much thought into before I did it. Just like other people my age, I’m also watching my parents struggling with illness and general age-related shit. Being an only child, I’m starting to feel quite alone in that aspect of my life. I’m stressed about finances, my Exhole isn’t doing so well with his own mental health, which not only worries me with regards to his personal safety but also that if anything did happen to him and he wasn’t able to contribute financially to the kids, we’d be fucked and have to move out of this house. I know that sounds callous but it’s the truth and I can’t help but think of what might happen if the shit hits the fan again.
So I guess that’s enough of a list of reasons to make me feel emotionally drained, exhausted and teary. Despite the plethora of incredible feedback after Tuesday’s program, the old ‘Fat Girl Story’ is still playing in my mind. If only I were beautiful, if only I were skinny, if only were good enough, if only you were worthy, if only… It’s so fucking exhausting when you spend hours each day telling yourself what a piece of shit you are. Granted, not all days are like this and I am well aware that the old chestnut called ‘self-care’ has been lacking but that doesn’t make it any easier to sit with. Ahhhh, ‘sit with’ — a beautiful term I have learned over the past 8 weeks. Sitting with feelings that are shitty and allowing them space within my body. Something I never used to do, something I used to drown with litres of wine, something that I now have to face, like a normal person. Actually, I’m not sure how many people are actually comfortable sitting with discomfort, if our nation’s drinking habits are anything to go by but that’s another blog post entirely.
So, I’ve gone into mummy survival mode. The kids had toasties for dinner, as did I and I cannot wait to crawl into bed. I’m already planning going back to bed after school and kinder drop off tomorrow and I feel like I could sleep for a decade and still want more. I can feel waterfalls of tears coming my way and as soon as the kids are in bed, I’m going to let them flow. I’m sad. I’m hurting. I’m tired. I’m stressed. I’m glad I can identify how and why I’m feeling like this instead of running to the bottle shop and sending myself back into blurred tornado that was my life for so very long.
Hurry up kids, go to bed. I need to check out. x