This has been an incredibly “off” weekend for me. I feel all out of balance and in my head. For no good reason, really.
I think. I don’t know.
I feel like coming here and writing about it in an attempt to figure it out would be mundane. I feel like no one wants a recounting of my day. I feel like no one wants to read me ramble on an on like this is some kind of diary (even though it is, I suppose).
I feel like no one wants to hear about how many times Dan’s asked “Babe, are you okay?” this weekend and I’ve snapped an “I’m FINE” back at him. I feel like I don’t even want to think about how many times I’ve snapped that at him this weekend.
I feel like no one wants to hear about how many times I’ve lost my cool with Joshua this weekend for being himself–a toddler. For spitting French fries out at me. For refusing to eat anything except peanut butter. For refusing to keep his shoes on. For refusing to come to me when I ask him to. For getting into every.single.thing.in.this.house. Repeatedly.
I feel like I should be saying more important things here. Like I should be using this space as more than just a chronicle of every event that went well or didn’t. I should be using this space to make some kind of difference in the world.
And yet I find myself drawn to this space to write about how yesterday, we took Joshua to a touch-a-truck event and I couldn’t enjoy it with him. I was there physically, but mentally, I was somewhere else.
I feel drawn to write about how he and I had a good outing yesterday morning, running errands and having a good time together, and all the while I waited for the good time to end. Anticipated the meltdown and tantrum that would come before I could get us home fast enough.
I feel drawn to write about how I am frustrated that I can’t clean my house with a toddler because he comes behind me and undoes everything I’ve just done. And while I’m not a neat-freak by any stretch of the imagination, I would at least like for toys and books to stay in their respective locations for half a second after I’ve put them there.
I feel like I’ve been somewhere else all weekend. Like I’ve been watching my life happen.
What’s so weird about this is that during the week I’m in a pretty good space most of the time. Most of the time I go through my days feeling normal, which gives me a sense of security about my anxiety. Like it’s better. Gone. And I think “Wow. Maybe tonight’s when I’ll start to taper off my meds” and I don’t because I forget.
And then the weekend comes and I feel all Not Me and it breaks me. And I suddenly never want to taper off my meds ever ever ever because what if I do and really bad shit happens.
I hate feeling like I’m not present in my own life.
And that’s exactly what this, this moment right here, right now, feels like. I am not present in my own life. I am breathing, but I am not living. I’m not enjoying things right now.
I enjoy moments, sure, but I just want to have an entire weekend of feeling like “me.”
Right now I’m not even sure I know who I am.