Surrounded by unpacked moving boxes, I feel claustrophobic. I can’t get motivated to unpack them, search out a spot for their content or enjoy their existence in my life. There are no pictures I want to hang on my walls; walls which are still lacking fresh paint and are littered with scraps of wallpaper reminiscent someonelse’s life. I have no excitement to decorate or mold this house into a home; most days I have no ambition to get out of bed.

I am angry. So angry. All the time. My children are constantly whining, crying, asking questions, repeating “Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?” for what seems like an eternity; they’re begging, bribing and making deals. They’re being – wait for it – CHILDREN yet I find myself reacting quickly without thought. I yell, I threaten and I walk away. I take my aggression out on my husband verbally; he retaliates and it’s a never ending vicious circle of awful and hateful words. Sometimes in front of the kids.

Then the guilt.

The dreaded, unrelenting Mommy Guilt sets in and I find myself wallowing in front of mindless television while I attempt to numb any feeling by way of my emotional eating. It’s only a temporary remedy because it comes back bigger, faster and stronger the next time.

I have dreams. Dreams I fear will never come to fruition due to circumstances which have altered who I am. I used to be an organized and ambitious person. I used to love going out with friends, socializing and meeting new people. I used to dress up, do my hair and love searching out the best outfit. I used to take pride in my work, enjoy my job and have some semblance of professionalism. I never knew the word can’t. Now? Met with even the smallest road block, I give up.

I hate this new me. I hate her with every fiber of my being, yet I do nothing to try and rid her from my life. It’s like watching from a distance as she gives up and slink away, shoulders slumped. I want to yell at her to shape up, take control and love her life; it’s the only one she gets. Take those chances, buy that new outfit, get your hair done; because really? It’s a small price to pay for a little control and happiness.

That girl? She’s a roadblock. She’s keeping me from traveling, seeing my friends, having night’s out and laughing.

Oh, the laughing. We used to laugh all the time. I mean, that’s how this all started (well, she has a HUGE part in it too).

I want to tell her that stress is a way of life: it’s all about how you manage it. She NEEDS to get a grip. She needs to stop yelling at my husband before he’s had enough and gives up. There’s only so much a person can take and it’s really not fair to expect the world of one person. He’s only human. She needs to see that. She needs to see that men just aren’t programmed like women: everyone knows that but her.

Maybe she needs to seek some help that maybe just a general practitioner can’t provide? Maybe someone else can tell her what is wrong and what steps she can take to improve it? Maybe someone else can tell her that medication isn’t the be all to end all and there are other methods to achieve the happiness she so desires?

Maybe she’ll listen to someone else.

:::

Thank you all for your comments on my latest entries. I know you’re there for my and your support means more to me than I can even say. I’ve tried a couple times to go back and respond to comments, but end up writing novels and then deleting them so I gave up.

I’ve made an appointment to also see a chiropractor to try and rid myself of these awful headaches I’ve been getting. From my evaluation she said “She’s got her work cut out for her”.  I see her on Saturday for my first appointment. Monday I see my family doctor and I am thinking I should maybe print out these latest entries for her…. I don’t know though. Should I?