Now is the time to write. The time when I least feel like it. When I feel most ashamed of how I am feeling. When my head whirls and tails around on itself, telling stories, teaching me lies. Like I am not a good mum. Everything would be easier without me. Fleeting, but scary thoughts of leaving. Even hearing X-man’s voice does not waver my resolve.
It feels as though everything is too much. Too overwhelming. Too much washing (but what is really the point in washing), too much cleaning (it really is too much I mean our yard is such a mess), too much weight gaining (why can’t you just exercise more, eat less, try harder)…
My counsellor told me today that
it is good that you are so attuned to how you are feeling but I think that it is to the detriment of your wellbeing. Perhaps if you were more distracted then you would not be so focussed on how you were feeling
I explained that it is always there. That unknown feeling in the pit of my stomach and by not acknowledging it all day I broke down this afternoon. I forgot to take my medication. Rookie mistake. I needed help and the only person who was available to my knowledge was my husband. I broke down. In the carpark at the mall walking back to my car after a day of ‘distraction’. The thoughts were clumsily, but screaming about how I had failed as a mother with the severe nappy rash that adorned Master X’s rear. That I am a failure as an independent partner by requiring my other half to help me out.
That I cannot even take care of myself so how can I expect to do it for a baby?
I love my son. I love him, I know that I do. But today I feel like I am not showing my love, being the best mum that I can be. I need to try harder… Or maybe I just need to sleep (says Mr. A).