Sometimes, I just want to cry. I want to cry so hard that I can’t breathe. I want to cry so hard that my eyes seem to be shut forever, tears squeezing out like escapees from Alcatraz only to co-mingle with diabolically sneaky streams of watery snot as they course down my fatty, freckled cheeks, contorted in a deep grimace of pent up frustration, long-held deep pain…
(Sorry, had to interrupt this blog to answer my Husband’s question as to whether or not to keep the oven on for the chocolate chip cookie batter I whipped up with all the pent up frustration earlier today. I’m no Betty Crocker, let me assure you but, there is something to be said about using an electric beater, putting it on the highest setting, watching batter splatter all over the range and walls while throwing glares that could ice over anyone, at my Husband. In my defense, aside from the pent up frustration, he was hovering and trying to “assist”, interjecting his neurosis of perfection and precision into MY frenzy bake. Sure, he doesn’t get in my way when I use the broom like a hockey puck while cleaning BUT, invite the guy to help bake some cookies and, when I try to channel my frustration HE decides to step in. SIGH. )
…and months upon months of holding it all in because, when do I have the time to cry like that?
Even when my Son is asleep and, I get an hour or two before he wakes up, the last thing I want to do is spend it crying so hard I get a headache. I’m too busy thinking of all the things I can do before he wakes up and, let me tell you, that’s PLENTY.
Maybe I could do as all the books, magazines and internet articles say and, make time for myself.
I don’t know what those who feel like they can, do or, those who can give off-hand advice do but, I know that for me, this is about as clear as mud. I sprinkle in, “me” time all day, in bits and pieces of zoning out on the internet or the television, later feeling very guilty and very ashamed that I am giving over my time and attention to emotionless pieces of modern technology, for my Son. I feel guilty for wasting away a couple of hours, getting lost in the connection of the web or, losing myself in what I choose to watch on the telly. Yet, I know that this is, “ME” time and I’m still left wanting.
Is it some connection I’m missing? Maybe but, I’m leaving that out of this blog and filing it under, “None of yo bizness!”.
All I know is that I want to cry. I have…whatever…going on in my life and, unlike BEFORE I had a child, I just don’t have the time for it anymore. I hardly have time to think for myself, being more preoccupied with how I could always improve on being a Mother and a Wife, (take THAT in-laws of various degrees!) because I always feel that there is a very large margin for improvement and I find myself wanting.
I know that I’m walking a tight rope but, it’s my tight rope and, DARNIT, I just want to confide in the internet because, I don’t want to burden my friends and my family with my crap, okay? So, I’ll burden YOU because, you can choose to read this or, not. You can say to yourself, “Yep, felt like this. Totally get it. Feelin’ you sister” or you can say to yourself, “quit your darn whining, suck it up and live with it” or, you can tell yourself any darn thing you darn want because, in the end, I just wanted to tell someone that I want to cry, to let it out, to make it okay for myself to, MAYBE, do it one day, (hopefully soon) and to let you know that I am FAR from perfect. Maybe you already came to that conclusion, maybe you never thought I was, maybe you did. Either way, it’s CONFIRMED.
…and, if you feel like I do, you’re not alone. Sometimes, I feel alone and, while I’m not asking for any band members for my sad symphony, (unless you really need to play the violin with me) I’d kind of like to know that I’m not alone and, if you feel that way too, if you’ve wanted to cry and let all of the mountain of worry, stress, frustration, anger and CRAP out in a good bout of sobbing and wetting a pillow well…you are NOT alone either.
I’m the desert that misses the rain but, life still thrives and even blooms in the desert. Building more of that handy strength, I am.
Can’t ever have enough of strength, if I’ve learned anything in my thirty years.
Time makes you bolder
2 months ago