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Apparently I’m the Worst Mother in the World

Alright kiddos, we’re about to get heavy and dark and gloomy here. Maybe we can try to attribute this hurl into a pit of darkness on the forthcoming holiday. I’m going to boil it down to a character flaw.

I am passive. If you follow me on Twitter, I’m sure you are WELL aware of this. I drop the F-bomb almost religiously. A lot can be said about a chick who drops F-bombs. She’s feminine, articulate, and classy.

As of late, there has been a growing self-justification for the use of so many harsh words. I am expressing the innards. What makes up this very pivotal moment in my life. This step (or lack thereof) of the journey is a tall one with sludge and gunk tossing me all over the place the second I decide to try to conquer it again.

Before this past weekend, I would have my moments. Okay, they were meltdowns. The-world-is-crashing-down-around-me-and-we-are-all-going-to-die meltdowns. They involved a lot of yelling and crying, mostly at Steve. Bless his heart. Was it inappropriate for me to “take things out on him”? The sad part, not entirely. I write all of this with his knowledge of every, single, solitary statement I make. I’ve said this all to him. He knows how I feel. He knows what I’m struggling through. THIS. This knowledge he has. It’s a first. I have never cracked open the door to my dark, scary place to ANYONE before. Not like this.

If you haven’t followed me on Twitter, I have anxiety. BAD. Being a detail oriented, pre-planning freak like me, slight anxiety comes with the territory. In my case, extreme anxiety comes with my territory. One simple thing doesn’t go as planned or presumed, one of those meltdowns happens. I strive so hard to make sure everything runs smoothly for everyone in my life, but the second something doesn’t go according to plan…

The Apocalypse. No. Seriously.

And that, my friends, right there, the “make sure everything runs smoothly for everyone in my life” part, that’s what started dragging me into my dark, scary place.

None of my life, as it is right now, is what I had planned to be taking place right now. Ere go, I feel COMPLETELY out of control. I am in this robotic mode, scrambling to make all the pieces fit together, to conform to this new and foreign land. I’ve never been good at puzzles. They stress me out. So a puzzle on this grand a scale is like trying to fit a cow in a hen house.

I love Dylan and Steve more than the world itself. Love is blind. Maybe I keep running into the same wall I thought I had demolished the last time the world ended. Maybe that’s why we keep having the same arguments. Why the same things get under my skin. I thought they were handled, resolved, obsolete. I was wrong.

It all comes down to sacrifice.

Sacrifice.

I hate reading/thinking/saying/hearing that word. I have OVER sacrificed. Simply because my world changed in an instant, doesn’t mean I should have given up everything I wanted. Why am I the only one making these HUGE sacrifices? Why am I the one without a core group of friends? Why are the people who were mutual friends now only Steve’s friends? Why am I “okay” with no plans in motion for marriage? Why do I want to switch places and be daddy instead of mommy? Why are his feet SO heavy? Drag. Drag. Drag. Waiting…

It happened. The sentence every mother fears. Five words that thrust me into this pit of ugliness: “You are a bad mom…”

Ouch.

SUPER OUCH.

To my face the words were spoken. Spoken from a friend of Steve. Steve, who was just as “guilty” of the situation as I, yet received no sort of reprimand. Ouch.

So I’m coming out of my facade of happy-go-lucky and sticking it to the world that I am NOT happy. When I watch Dylan sleep or we are building block towers and playing dinosaurs. I am happy. Truly happy. Blissful. Other moments succumb to my despair, anger, anxiety, sadness. The sadness is paralyzing. Lots of tear-stained pillows and heavy bags under the eyes around these parts for a while.

We’re working through this. WE. As in I am confiding in the man who is anything but an outward expressionistic type of man. WE are working through this. This fight around, he understands more because he knows that he, himself, is part of the reason for my pain.

I can’t be the problem-solver, make-it-okay-er this time. I’m the one needing the glue and the steady hand willing to stand there and hold the piece in its place until it has set. Steve is my piece (peace) holder. Only a few days have passed since the exploitation of my demons. A few pieces have set. There are a lot more to go.

I will still be actively entertaining myself/my sanity through blogging. I’ll do my best to keep things as light as possible. Dark places make for darker subject matter. Don’t be too alarmed. Now, however, you know why. You know that I am working through an ugly mess I’ve allowed to grow into this colossal pile of disgusting trash.

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