Archive | April 2013

The Chaos Continues

Almost midnight. My insides are all mixed up, turned upside down on themselves. These past weeks have been as crazy as the ones before. It seems out never slows down these days. The chaos never ends.

Doctors are pretty useless these days. In my case and my daughter’s. I keep trying to get a hold of my psychiatrist, leaving messages and never getting a return call. Maybe I should stop calling at midnight and deal with it during office hours, but I can never remember. Then, a whole slew of doctors still don’t know what’s wrong with my kid and she’s getting worse. I’m lost beyond lost.

The rest of my children seem to think that it’s a good time to act up and get in trouble. One is so sassy that I’ve been getting reports from school saying they’re having major issues there too.

School it’s barely hanging on by a thread. I’m still in two classes, but even that’s proving to be a struggle. I’ve decided to take a break from the English degree for a year while I get my massage therapy licence. It will be nice to make some money while going to school.

All in all, I can safely say I’m not sure how I haven’t lost it yet. I’m close to it, especially these past few days. I can feel the anger building up inside me. When I’m not angry, I’m depressed. Seems I’m always on the verge of tears these days. My thoughts are racing and all I can seem to think is negatively. This is the most wicked mixed episode I’ve had in a long while. I just hope I can keep it together through this…

Two Down…

WHY CAN”T I WRITE?

I can’t write anything. Not homework. Not my blog. Not my book. Not even a damned text message. I feel like my soul has been sucked right out of me. Five times, I’ve sat down to do serious writing. Five times, all I could do was write about how stressed, upset, and overwhelmed I am. Most of it ended up like gibberish, with me blubbering as I typed away at the keys. This isn’t writers block. This is something much worse.

I had to drop two of my classes due to this crap. Philosophy and Creative Writing. Two classes I REALLY enjoyed. Now, I’m hanging by a thread in my other classes, with my family obligations threatening to snap that thread before my eyes. It’s killing me.

There are two sides to me, it seems. The mothering side who wants to be everything for everyone, conquering all obstacles we come across. Then, there’s the selfish side who wants nothing more than to run and hide from it all, doing nothing more than what my little heart desires.

UGH!

I know what I need to do and I’m doing it, but I still want to hide my head in the sand until this all blows over.

Sometimes I hate being me.

The Girl Who Never Cleaned

It seems my posts are getting further and further apart. I guess I need to start making writing a priority again, but with so much going on, it’s honestly hard to find time to breathe these days.

The eldest is still not walking right. She’s in a wheelchair anytime she’s not at home. Her strength is slowly coming back. I wish I could say the same for mine. Bi-weekly physical therapy, weekly neurologist appointments, and various other appointments fill my time now. When I’m not running, I’m trying to keep up with school, my business, and the house. Needless to say, the house is suffering. There’s a story behind why this last one bothers me so. If you sit a spell, I’ll share the tale with you.

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That was mighty old-fashioned of me, so here’s an old fashioned photo to go with it.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who got married at a young age. This girl had many responsibilities growing up and felt that she had been treated unfairly. This caused her to shirk her adult responsibilities and her house became a huge mess. Her spouse wasn’t much help, often adding more to the mess than he ever helped with, and then blaming her for the state of the home. After all, she was home with two kids under 4 (one of whom was a newborn) all day. Surely she had tons of time and motivation to get things done while he was gone.

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This bodes well for getting housework done, let me tell you.

Over the next year, her house displayed varying levels of cleanliness, but mostly, it looked like an episode of Hoarders gone wrong. Okay, maybe not quite that  bad, but it was sure close. After child number three came along, she fell into a deep depression. As you can imagine, the emotional state was reflected in the appearance in her home. Some days she could barely find the motivation to brush her hair, let alone do the dishes.

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Something tells me this woman was having one of those days. That, or she couldn’t locate a mirror.

Through the years, more and more messes were made and it seemed to the girl that the more she cleaned, the messier it got. No matter how much she plead with those who shared her home, she could not get help doing even the simplest of chores. The girl gave up. Her house was forever a pigsty after that.

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I can safely say my house never got this bad. Thank goodness!

The End

Only it wasn’t. That douche of a spouse left. At first, the house wasn’t any cleaner because the girl felt like a failure. She had made promises and now they had been broken. Not by her, but by him. She felt she had failed her kids and her whole family. She felt she failed herself.

Little by little, her eyes opened. She realized that she hadn’t been in a healthy place for a long time and part of that was because of him. Now that he was gone, she could find herself again, because she didn’t even know who she was anymore. She became happier and as she did, her house got cleaner and cleaner. She realized that having a clean house made her feel better too.

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I wish my house looked like this. It’s simply not this pretty though.

Fast forward to now. The girl is happy-ish. Things are tough, sure, but they seem to be getting better. She has so much to do, that the house is beginning to slip again. The girl thinks back to the way it used to be. The way her house used to look. She looks around, unhappy with where things are. She knows it’s not bad yet, but worries that it could get there. She gets so much more help now, so that’s huge, but she still feels like she should be doing more to help. She feels this way, but instead of cleaning, she writes, because right now, it’s all she knows how to do to keep sane.