Life, it's hard.
Sometimes it downright sucks. Yerp, I said it. I'm embracing the sad today. I'm done fighting it. I've decided that if it's going to stick around, we might as well spoon.
Single parenthood. It's hard.
On one hand, I thank every entity in the Universe that I do not have the custody/co-parenting struggle crap that most parents go through that screw kids up worse than a merry-go-round at the fair. On the other hand, I genuinely believe that I am completely screwing them up.
Especially when you have two kids with completely seperate, very different problems and needs both emotionally and psychologically. The girl child gets so depressed that she can't get out of bed and the boy child doesn't understand it so he gets super angry and confrontational about her getting to stay home and he can't.
It's not a huge secret that since early childhood I have suffered from mental illness. Ever since my children were brought into this world I have prayed both that I wouldn't let it affect how I am as a mother and that they would not know the Black Hole. I have found more than ever lately that I am not so lucky on either end of that prayer. I have become fairly open about it since staying home and wallowing are not options for everyday normal life - whatever that is. Self care is important, and instead of fighting with my emotions in unhealthy ways, I do what I need to do to get through it. Mostly because I can't run away from myself. A little because shadows follow you wherever you go.
Like today for example; super stressed out. Have a lot on my plate and need time that I don't have to get it all done. Still trying to wrap my brain around why someone would take on a "per diem" job and then never cover at any time they are needed. Hence why I spent the first 3 hours of my 9 hour shift failing at warding off the inevitable panic attack that ensued. I got a break, ate a huge greasy cheeseburger. I'm better now, panic attack wise. At least for the time being. Don't judge. A cheeseburger is on the lower end of the self harm scale, given what coping mechanisms just one panic attack used to pull out of me. I've also found that cleaning and organizing helps too. This week I have managed to get rid of 8 trash bags of stuff going through the house, and I'm not done with the kid's room or the basement yet. See, productive. Much less harmful.
Last night, I opened myself up in a way that I have never done before, ever. I was talking to someone who has become a dear friend about how much they had to drink the weekend before. We talked about addictions, coping skills, the root cause of what brought ours out. I've never really had someone in my life who understood all of me. I think I finally do. It's actually nice to be able to tell someone what you have been through and who doesn't just smile and nod or ask a million questions because they have no idea how it feels. Someone that I'm not afraid to say what I need to say to because for some reason, they just get it. It's...settling.
Today, Mr. Seven Year Itch came over. He mowed my lawn and took me out to breakfast to try and help me feel better. It didn't work, but it was at least a nice break from reality. He bought me a dress for our next shoot. It's adorable. If I were in a different place emotionally this blog would probably be entirely about how I feel when I wear it.
Money is truly the root of all evil. I am really tired of the fact that 90% of my stress is from not ever having enough of it. It would be nice if I got child support. I don't. Thinking that finding a creative, non-illegal form of second income is going to be needed, and soon.
Over the hills and through the woods, I have become really good at keeping my shit together. Lately, not so much. Or maybe I'm just better at it than I think I am.
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