While giving my backstory is indescribably important into the telling of who I am and why…sometimes that’s exhausting. It can be exhausting and traumatic to relive, experience, and think about all of that again.
I want to depart from that for just a second here, because this is very, very much also me.
Many nights (and days) are like tonight. When nothing is “wrong”, except the fucking universe happening around me. Nothing is “wrong”, nothing significant happened, but sometimes (okay, oftentimes) the misery of my truth catches up with me. And I’m just freaking over it.
The doubts:
Was I a good enough mom today? Was I a good enough wife today? Did I do enough? Could I have done more?
The insecurities:
Will I regret this if I lose them? How can I not be filled with guilt for every time I’ve disciplined them? How can I not discipline them out of the fear of losing them?
The self hatred:
You did this. You caused it. Everything burning down around you is entirely your fault. Go ahead and drink more. You know you will anyway.
The loneliness:
I have no one. No one understands me. No one possibly ever could. Who has ever been in my position before? Maybe someone, somewhere…but that would be an incredible find. Sure, my incredibly loving husband is sitting 6 inches away from me, but no. I’m alone and I deserve to die. (Because…logic. Am I right?)
I don’t know. It’s late and he wants to go to sleep. This is a very, VERY typical night in our house; he can sleep, he is tired (rightfully so), but I suffer from nightmares, insomnia, and PTSD, so alcohol and distractions is much more appealing to me than the thought of closing my eyes.
I’m hanging in there. I always do. Fellow insomniacs, I”m here with ya tonight and most nights. Good luck out there.
(I’d edit this more normally, but I think I’m keeping him up. Apologies.)