Thinking out loud
Over at BitchBurgh, Hot Mama wrote a post that really hit home. Please read it.
I’ve been having a problem lately and I haven’t been able to talk about it. Somewhere between the PPD, the Celexa and the ‘being healed,’ I changed. And I’m not sure it’s for the better.
How do I put this? Well. Here’s what’s going on in my brain:
I’ve run out of ideas. I’ve run out of things to do. Life has become so mundane, so boring, so…everyday. And every day the kids and I go to the gym and come home and I make lunch, they nap, they watch a few tv shows while I make dinner and then Matt gets home and I quit.
Sometimes on Sundays I bake.
I can’t go 24 hours without checking Facebook. And as I commented on BitchBurgh’s blog:
What’s on your mind?
I suck at life.
I’ve contemplated deactivating my account for months now. I have a problem, and I’ll admit it. It really makes no difference to me what Suzie Q is doing at this very moment, but it’s outside of these four walls that keep me contained. I’m pregnant. I’m tired. It’s not easy to lug around two kids 3 and 17 months. It’s expensive to take them to the zoo and the Aviary all the time. I get bored playing outside. I’m tired of the same tv shows.
Sometimes Facebook is my outlet and sometimes it’s my scapegoat. I don’t have my priorities straight and it scares me. What scares me more is that I have absolutely no will power. I don’t want to wake up some day and realize that my kids grew up and I spent every day on facebook. I’m better than that.
But I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know where I went wrong. They say to fix the problem you have to find out why it happened. I don’t know why it happened. I don’t know why I care more about what some stupid high school loser is doing vs my kids. I don’t know when the TV became a substitute for my entertainment.
I used to believe the phrase, “It’s OK to take a break once and a while,” but it seems my breaks are every day now. My kids play well on their own because I’m not there. I’m there, but I’m not there in the metaphoric sense. I’m happy. I’m not depressed. I’m not angry. I’m just…I don’t know. I don’t know what it is. And all I want to do is bang my head off of something and make it all go away. I want to care again. I want to be that Mom that I know that I am. And for a few hours a day I am. I really truly am. But I don’t know why I stopped dancing in the living room to god awful pop music with the kids. I don’t know why I’ve stopped organizing crafts. We used to paper mache everything in sight. And when it’d dry, we’d paint it. Our playroom sits unused. We spend all day in the living room.
I shower when the kids are awake so that it doesn’t eat into their nap time. Heaven forbid I do anything useful while the kids nap. I don’t. I sit. I do nothing. And while people can sit there and say that it’s OK that I do nothing and that it should be my time, all day is my time. I’m not fun anymore. I’m not me.
And I’m going to start. Today. I’m going to start. Already this afternoon we’ve painted and read books. Luca started flipping out because he was upset over something or other, so I decided instead of stressing out, I’d put on Yo Gabba Gabba and take a minute to step back. Write it out.
I’m a good Mom. I’m a great Mom. I just. I’ve lost my way. I’ve become disinterested with things I used to love and that makes me sad. But it’s not too late. No it’s not too late. I can do this.