These moments carry so much weight. Can I talk about it anyway?

When you walk into therapy on a MONDAY night, and exclaim that it’s been a looooong week…you just know it’s gonna be a night.

And it sure was. I swear, sometimes just Saturday, Sunday and Monday feels like an entire week all in itself.

Therapy went well, and we talked about a lot. But I won’t lie, it was intense. I feel like I just loudly talked for a good 2 hours about the absolute ridiculousness of my life and tried to understand…why. Why everyone is so ridiculous all the time. But there really isn’t a why.

It’s been a really bad few days with the kids. Just…they’ve been a lot. And whenever that happens, my dad gets opinions. And likes to tell me everything that I’m doing wrong. (Which, apparently, is quite a lot.)

We’ve talked about him coming to therapy with me for a few weeks now, but next week it’s going to happen. So we spent nearly the entire time preparing for that. Which, just doing that…..was a LOT. Trust me.

I have a…strange relationship with my parents. Strange in the sense that…I live with them, and I’m thankful for them….but I am so fucking over it and I need my space and I absolutely need them to keep their mouths shut and their opinions to themself. UGH. (Internal scream of emotional release)

And then I get home and my husband has a headache. AGAIN. All I want to do…need to do… is decompress and watch something funny with him. But that’s not possible. Because what he needs to do is sleep.

So I get in an even worse mood. Because he’s now asleep…..at 9pm. I make myself (another) large drink, and move to the bathroom floor. Ya know, so he can sleep. In bed. Which is the absolute most dangerous thing for me, being in the bathroom alone and drinking.

(((It’s not even 10pm, but he’s asleep and I’m alone. I feel alone. I have not slept well in days. I’m exhausted, but my body refuses to rest. My mind won’t give in to the silence. )))

My 11 month old has a really important test first thing this morning. We have to be at the hospital at 8am for his second swallow study…but one that holds a lot of weight. I’m nervous and anxious about that.

I know he’ll fail. He can’t swallow anymore. But how severe is it? Does he need surgery? A gtube? Will he be fine? Will he somehow swallow fabulously for the mere seconds that the test lasts and they’ll all think I’m insane? Probably. Knowing our history…that’s literally so likely to happen.

These moments carry so much weight. All of them.

Therapy.

These nights alone, literally so fucking alone…left to deal with my feelings and emotions and fears. No one to talk to or decompress with.

Terrifying health issues with my children. My baby. He seems to be the most medically complicated of them all.

I don’t have time for my emotions.

And it seems that, outside of the 2 hours of therapy I’m somehow fortunate enough to have…no one has time for my emotions either.

This life is hard. Lately, the theme is special needs parenting is fucking hard. And it really just is.

So few get it.

But even if you don’t…can I talk about it anyway?

Yes, I battle addiction. And you probably don’t get it.

But even if you don’t…can I talk about it anyway?

Any one of the hundreds of aspects of my life that make them challenging and painful and unique and complicated and unbearable…I KNOW that you don’t get it.

But please.

Please.

Can I talk about it anyway?