A strange depression is consuming me lately. I have not said anything about it because it doesn’t seem to have any roots, or at least none that I have been able to dig up. I have noticed my twitches being more pronounced lately, too, which is frustrating since I had kept them at bay for a while.
Depression might be too strong a term. This is more like baby blues compared to post-partum.
I have tried to delve into what is causing these emotions. I know that I have been dealing with the self est-demon that still plagues me despite my success in diet and exercise. I made the mistake of wearing a sleeveless top yesterday. I had not recently due to the cold. I looked in the mirror at work as I did my arm exercises and noticed the horrid droopy skin and fat flaps dangling from my biceps. It was disgusting. They looked like my arms were melting. It was this flabby candle wax, dropping off into a pancake shape. I have been doing almost 900 arm swirls a day. How could my arms look so disgusting?
Then I glance down at my gut. It is this pouch of evil, laughing at me. My reflection shows an enormous woman, trying to pull off clothing that she should not be caught dead in. The gray in my hair is more pronounced and I can’t see anything attractive.
When I arrive home, I fall in deeper despair. I see all of the chores that need to be done. I struggle with the boys to get their homework done timely, and correctly. I have to make dinner. I have not decorated the front of the house. There is more shopping that needs to be done. Where will that money come from? The playroom is a disaster area again. Dax is vomiting. Ken seems more interested in what is on his computer than me. My dogs look sad. We have to get sugar cookies. Presents are still not wrapped.
This is just a small sampling of the ticker that runs constantly across my mind. There is no stop. There is only go go go . Even at night, my normally restful sleep has seemed off lately. I can’t get comfortable. My mind is racing. I am getting more frustrated with the constant need from my whole household. Last night, as I was holding Dax as he puked in the toilet, I had to field a question from Bobby about whether or not he could have a fruit roll up, and only when I yelled at him did Ken notice all that was going on. I had to go out to get Dax’s robe from my car, and honestly, it took all that I had in me to not get in and drive off for a while.
I realize I have no business bitching. I am lucky. I have a husband who loves me. Two incredible kids. I have fantastic parents and inlaws and gobs of kick ass friends. I have a good job and despite my diabetes and fat, I am pretty damn healthy. Then why do I feel like a complete failure right now? Why do I feel like I can’t handle it?
This will pass. I am sure it is the holidays and perhaps some of my wacked out hormones still in overdrive from the period last week. Either way, my best way to deal with things is to spit it out in type.
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