Right now I should be writing the happiest post ever. Instead I'm sat here at my computer, once again feeling utterly horribly low.
This morning my little sister gave birth to her first. She did brilliantly well, having laboured through a failed epidural, and pretty much in labour for I think, 24 hours. She asked me to be there, to help coach her a little bit, get through the contractions and support her as best as possible.
And I so wanted to be there for her. But for some reason, the whole event started to make me realise how fucking spineless I am. I don't know why, but for some reason, her partner seems to take great pleasure in making me a scapegoat; it's a big joke, and for all my ailments and physical problems, I become a great source of humour and entertainment for them. And I say them because once my mother joins in, it's like a free-for-all.
So why am I bothered? I can laugh at myself, right? Hell isn't that what this blog has become? A place where I list all the impressively stupid things I've done so we can all have a laugh at my expense? Well last night it hurt. A lot. And I felt annoyingly stupid for it too. Why can't I just get a fucking spine already? Why can't I just deal with this shit?
Maybe he didn't understand or appreciate that I had my own shit to deal with too. I had left the boys with the Nanny at 10am yesterday morning, and hadn't seen them since. Of course, Noah chose to eat an entire pot of Baked Beans for the Nanny. He and Isaac were great all day for the Nanny. And once again I felt like a failed mother. I felt two of my old friends, guilt and depression.
Maybe he didn't understand that everyone else had had sleep at some point; I couldn't because there was nowhere for me to sit and rest without being in agony with my goddamn hips and pelvis (falling down the stairs a few days earlier does nothing to help this problem by the way). He probably also didn't realise that I hadn't boobed in something like 15 hours and was in no mood to take shit from anyone, apart from the one person who was in a stupid amount of pain (her epidural failed - it fell out. Wtf???)
I understand he had other concerns, but why am I such a fucking laughing stock? I was there to SUPPORT them, not be his comic relief. But like the story of my life, I didn't say anything to him or my mother. How could I? I wasn't gonna shit on his day and she can barely take much these days herself. So who do I vent at in the situation? Well I don't. Suck it up, take it outside, cry a bit, then go back in and hit head on. Story of my fucking life.
There are lots of issues bothering me right now, and none so much as the gaping issue of me staring into that old Slippery Slope. I've felt it creeping up on me for ages, months now, but have that distinct feeling no one would understand or perhaps, believe me when I say I think there's something wrong. This isn't just tiredness, but something is wrong. I've become so good at shoving it aside that it doesn't get dealt with anymore, and so it just sits in the corner quietly festering away
And I can't deal with it. Everytime I suggest that I might be sinking, someone responds in such a way that makes me think or feel like I'm just being weak. We're allowed to be weak aren't we? Everyone has moments of weakness, right? Is it so wrong that sometimes I just want to give in to my weakness, let it wash over me, take me back to that place of nothingness where I don't physically or mentally deal with anything?
Sometimes I long for that place. I didn't care about anything. Anything. I would wake up, not even move, because I couldn't, I wouldn't, barely inhaling into the black shroud over my head. It was an oddly comfortable shroud because it felt like it shielded me. It hid me. It protected me from everything and protected everything from me and I didn't care. I haven't worn that shroud for a long time, and sometimes I think I miss it, but I'm not sure. It was easier letting someone else sort everything out; I didn't have to deal with anything. It didn't feel like I had to deal with anything.
Is that wrong? Is that selfish? That wanting to go to sleep, to hide myself away and not have to be visible to anyone? I think my problem is I just don't know how to look after my shit. And so it's easier to hide.
Which is sad, because in all honesty? Sleeping tablets shouldn't look this appealing from my point of view. But that's the easiest way, isn't it? Drift off into a long black sleep, right? Then I can wake up later, maybe, and someone else has sorted out all the shit. Or maybe I don't wake up, and don't have to think about this shit.
Maybe it's Christmas. Maybe I have spent so many years running around trying to make sure everyone's playing Happy Families, and busted my own ass so many times in the process that I can't physically do anymore. I know I can't do anymore. I feel like I'm constantly putting myself out there for others to keep them happy, but no one helps me take care of my shit. And then when I DO try to take care of my shit, I feel guilty and selfish for abandoning everyone else.
Why do I do this to myself? Who did this to me? Why the fuck does it happen? Did my parents do this? Is it because of them why I'm this way? Is it just me? Am I just fucked up, broken, damaged goods? Have I served my time and now that's it for me, finite? I need that light under the shroud. I need cushions at the bottom of the slope. I don't see them yet. I don't know who could pt those things there for me. Hell I'd just like to know how to put them there myself.