I have cried every day this week. Grad school, depression, and parenting are colluding to convince me that I will never be happy, that I am not the student or parent or partner I want and need to be, that I will always disappoint and fail those around me and myself.
Logically, I know these things aren’t true. My exhaustion and my sore body prove I am being the parent I need to be, waking three or four times a night to soothe my son, and spending the days carrying him, pulling him away from un-shelving my books, and cuddling him as much as he wants. I know these are temporary bumps, the signs of his development (refusing to be soothed by Daddy, clinging to me like he did as a much younger baby). But JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU JUST NOT TOUCH ME FOR TEN MINUTES?
I’m trying to convince myself I’m being a good partner to my husband, but it’s hard. The depression and the neverending anger/anxiety cycle that is my new constant companion make it hard to provide the compassion, patience, and support that he needs and deserves as he adjusts to a new position at work. I want to offer support but LOVE OF GOD SERIOUSLY NO TOUCHING OKAY?
I am trying to take steps to be the student I need to be. I think I have to drop a class in order to succeed in the other two, because I only have so much effort and child-free time (or at least time when the child is supervised by someone else near me), and I’m willing to take an extra quarter or two to complete my degree with my sanity relatively intact. I’d turn to people in my life for emotional support but they seem to come with hugs and DOES NOBODY UNDERSTAND I AM TIRED OF ALWAYS BEING TOUCHED?
When I got asked what I wanted for Mother’s Day, I was blunt. I want to be left alone. I want one day where I don’t worry about schoolwork or parenting or being a good spouse or human being. I want to get a pedicure and drink a bottle of wine and listen to Britney Spears and read a stack of romance novels and not talk to anyone or be responsible for someone’s meals or laundry or dirty diapers. I want to sleep without jumping out of bed at someone else’s whim. Maybe I want a massage, maybe I want to be touched in a giving fashion, instead of being touched to serve the needs of someone else. Maybe, for a day, I don’t want to be a mom.
Today I finally called to make an appointment with a psychiatrist, because I can’t be who I need to be right now. I know that my emotional swings aren’t healthy for my child (as the child of a bipolar mother, I know the effects of an unhappy and unstable mom), and they aren’t healthy for my marriage or my education. I can’t keep being angry that someone is touching me. I can’t succumb to the anxious rage that seems to be always accompanying every single task in my life. I can’t keep flipping out because life is happening.
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