I've found a new way to hibernate and lock myself away from the rest of the world. The great part is I had even managed to convince myself that I was really getting better. Not getting better, that I was better. Whatever that means.
I have filled my plate so full I can barely carry it. And I convince myself that so little of it is for me because I love serving my family so very much. I put myself into the role of martyr and tell myself it is what I want. All the while my soul is starving, and a starving soul does no one any good.
Things are crazy around here, but I've been afraid to bitch about them - afraid of what that might look like. Afraid I might seem ungrateful for all the great stuff we have, or afraid I might make things sound worse than they are - more dramatic - and worry family and friends, afraid that I'll sound petty or worse, stupid.
As I type that I know it is silly, I'm smart, I'm grateful, I am not petty and I am not crazy. I do have a mental illness and that isn't going to change overnight, I need to work to get well and I need to remember that.
Sebastian is potty-training. It is a frustrating and messy process that I am so worried about screwing up. I just want to be able to tell the kid to "go" on the pot and have him do it. But currently he is holding his poop. Waiting for a diaper and with it a chance to let loose. I wouldn't mind so much if we hadn't decided to switch back to cloth. I really loathe cleaning his poo out of diapers. Saying that makes me realise I need to get over my mental view of diaper-cleaning, otherwise we'll never stick with it with Rigby. I think I forget why I was so adamant about cloth diapering, because back when I could remember I had much less trouble rolling with the routine of rinsing and washing.
Rigby is teething, I'm pretty cool with it, she seems to be happy with chewing on whatever's available. She likes teething tablets as much as her brother (who is also teething, getting him some molars that kid is). We're out until pay day, so they both got hits of sticky red tylenol yesterday. I worry about red dye and artificial sweetners, and am reminding myself that it is done and that the peace was worth the price.
Rigby seems to share Sebastian's infanthood dairy intolerance. I was slower to admit it this time, as we've become a family who eats a lot of cheese - but the syrupy poops and painful gas can't be ignored. It'll be a good thing, considering Sebastian and I both get grumbly tummies after we eat delicious, delicious dairy. On the bright side, I've been making some food from Low Budget Vegetarian and am finding it delicious, cheaps, filling and kid-friendly.
I find myself flashing back to all the dietary restrictions I endured when Sebastian was tiny and I feel trapped. I don't want to go through it all again.
I've been rigid. Not willing or able to flex as needed, as circumstances evolve and change. I have been trying to do too much and be too much, it happens as soon as I try to step back. So I'm taking another look at things, go back to taking time for myself, get out of this trench. While I do it I thin I might do things that make me look a little crazy. I saw it in the eyes of my husband last night as I tried to let him in on the mess that is my internal monologue. But I am not yet crazy, my feet are still firmly planted in reality and as long as they're here I know I can get where I'm going.