You’re just depressed all the time.
They are not words anyone really wants to hear.
But at the same time, they are very much words I needed to hear.
I know that subconsciously, I have been filling my time and days with everything, not wanting to have time to sit and think.
I can feel the panic bubbling just under the surface.
The indescribable urge to scream sometimes.
And I don’t know why.
I have blood pressure issues.
To me, the checks at the doctors never give me what I feel is an accurate reading. I can feel myself get anxious as soon as they mention checking it. I can feel myself get hot, my heart races, it thumps.
Even with this, it sits at about 135/85 medicated. Which is close enough to the norm that we are all satisfied.
Today, I went about an unrelated matter.
He said “We’ll just check your blood pressure while you’re here…”
The almost tears. The thumping…
160/90. 120 heart rate.
Like a frightened rabbit.
This says so much more to me about my mental health than my physical health.
I know my blood pressure is better than that.
I know my cardiovascular health is improving.
And so once again, I need to speak.
I need to deal with all the things I’m bottling inside.
Everything I’m scared to talk about.
I didn’t realise that I was hurting my family.
Hurting those I love.
Taking my frustrations out on the children, snapping at them. Getting frustrated at them for being children.
Snapping at tattoodaddy for asking questions that I didn’t feel like answering.
I don’t want to live like this.
I miss me.
I miss being happy.
I miss enjoying life to it’s fullest.
I miss not feeling so fucking scared.
I miss loving myself.
I’m fucking sick of pretending.
I’m not good at being a mother of two.
When I take them both to the shops, it’s not because I’m so great. I take them because it means that I can keep them both in a very small, contained area and it’s ok. It’s actually expected.
It also means I can bribe the child with a donut and everyone smiles at him while he’s covered in sugar and tell me he’s adorable.
I just want one goddamn night’s sleep with no interruptions. I’m sick of dealing with sick children. And being up all night with reflux. And toilet training a child who is adverse to pooing on the toilet. Is that too much to friggen ask?
Pat goes from one extreme of Hubby of the World to the other. Sometimes he is absolutely amazing, sometimes I just want to yell at him “WHAT ABOUT ME?!? I’M SICK TOO!” Luckily, I can’t complain too much. He is great MOST of the time. Just a little oblivious when it’s most important.
I love my family and I love Pat’s family. But sometimes I wish we could just tell them we don’t want to see anyone, do anything or go anywhere. We’re tired. We don’t get a break to just do nothing despite what you might think. Having two young children while we are young is HARD. There are things I wish we had for our kids (our own house being one) but we just can’t afford it. I’d love to have Dex in swimming lessons and baby dancing and all those other things good parents put their children in. But we don’t have the money and I feel like that makes me not a good parent.
Most nights Pat and I just fall into bed. If I’m lucky we have enough energy to have sex. I refuse to lose that part of our relationship due to being too tired, because sometimes it feels like sex is the only thing I do that doesn’t have something to do with being a mother.
I feel guilty when I wonder if this is what the rest of our life will be like. I love my kids, both of them. With my whole heart. If I didn’t I would possibly have shaken them already so I could just get another fucking hour worth of sleep. But I haven’t and I won’t. Because as much as I sometimes question being a mum and if I’m any good at it, their smiles tell me I must be doing something right.