Alone

I'm a month away from having my second baby and all I feel is alone. I'm not going to the hospital because I hated it, but that requires so much more from my husband and I feel like he's just completely wrapped up in his own world that is work. He tries to share it with me... at times, and we did have the same profession, but I don't really think he thinks I understand.

I stay home all day with the first child and he works. I feel thwarted in getting things done because I'm so tired all the time so when he asks me how my day was I usually say that I didn't get enough done. Somehow he has taken this to mean that I have been lazy and doing whatever I wanted all day. Occasionally this is true, but most of the time it isn't. There are a million and one little things I do all day - any mother can relate to this.

It's come to a head when he hasn't done the dishes 4 out of the last 5 days leaving the sink piled up and overflowing so that I can't even make a meal for my child without having to do the dishes first. This is the only "chore" that he has to do at home and it's compounded by the fact that the sink faucet is so far back it literally hurts my back to do dishes for more than about 5 minutes at a time. (we don't have a dishwasher)

He then proceeds to tell me that he works really hard and is just too tired to do anything else. He uses the excuse that I have so much free time and he is just "going" until 11 at night. Yet every time I walk into the room where he is supposedly working he has his work computer out yes, but his personal computer is set to playing games online. Games that I know require his undivided attention because he can't even hold a 30 second conversation with me and remember any of it when he's playing this game. Yet he can't be bothered to do the dishes because by the time he's done "working" he's too tired so he just goes to bed.

And in the middle of all this I realize that I need him to help me if I'm going to get through labor. Yet right now I don't trust him and don't even want him to be in the same room with me. I would rather have my best friend there than him. I can't prepare on my own, but I can't ask him to help. I don't even want him to touch me.

I sit, in front of this computer, "my computer", in the spare room that he says I haven't left any room for him in. This, apparently, is "my" house because I did all the work of finding it and making appointments and keeping track of paper work. And he feels left out. But I don't feel like he ever really wanted to know. He's so wrapped up in his world we (me and the child) might as well not even exist. It's a good thing the child is persistent or he would never be noticed.

And I'm dying a little more inside every day because I feel so alone.

Wanting Life

I am miserable. I know it's my own fault, but yet I can't seem to do anything about it.

Sometimes I really don't understand why my husband is still trying, the psychotic bitch that I am. I make his life more miserable than mine.

In the dark and the quiet the only thing that makes me want to stay is knowing that my son would be lost without me. I am his world.

But what will happen when he's not so cute in a few more years and trying my patience. Will I still want to be here for him?

And then I wonder what the fuck I'm thinking, trying to get pregnant again. How will I handle myself with a toddler and an infant when I can hardly keep it together with one?

I know what my problem is. I haven't really wanted anything to do with God since I was in college. Maybe that's too strong. It's just that I haven't felt like I got anything out of the relationship so it's slowly just gone away. Now I know I should read my Bible and I try to pray, but there is absolutely no desire there. I hate how guilty it makes me feel, but I never do anything about it.

And yet whenever anyone asks me how I'm doing I say fine. Not good anymore, just fine, or maybe okay. But no one ever asks again, no really, how are you? They don't really want to know. And I don't trust them enough to tell them what's really going on.

I don't trust anyone. Only the anonymous internets (what is wrong with that picture?). How screwed up is it that I can't even talk to my husband about this, let alone my best friends. I feel guilty that I even feel this way. I have a good life. I stay home and don't really have to worry about anything. Oh, I "worry" about money, but we will never be hungry or without a roof over our heads. The only pal on my horizon is my father with Parkinson's. Just the thought of that makes me cry. But we still have time with him and he loves me/us.

See? I've got it good. So why can't I be "happy"? Not in a perpetually perky way because that is so not me, but at least content with where I am? Why do I feel like a fake and a fraud and that no one knows who I really am? Why can't I trust anyone enough to tell them what's going on inside me? It's like I want to, but my mouth won't open and let me say a word. Somehow I'm afraid of something...

Why doesn't God help me? He certainly knows what I'm thinking. He knows that I want to do the right thing and be in a relationship with him. Because right now "wanting" to do the right thing is about all I've got going. I don't actually want something that I've only occassionally and vaguely felt in the past. Maybe that's the problem. He knows I'm not serious enough. Yet can't he make me serious about it?

Whatever. That's all philosophy and all I know is that I hate my life, I hate myself, and I'm destorying my family in the process.

I don't want my husband's platitudes (or anyone else's) I just want someone to make it all stop. Tell me what I have to do. Listen without trying to fix it or tell me that I'm really a good person and I should quit listening to the mean people around me.

I don't want to take drugs because, I forgot, I tried that once in college and the psychologist or whatever he was treated me like an idiot. I know the problem is between me and God, but I feel powerless to do anything about it on my end and He certainly isn't doing anything on his end.

This is where I'm compelled to write that, hey, I even have a tattoo on my back of a dove that's supposed to represent peace. His peace. And that I have to give up control for me to get it. Got that in Costa Rica when I was freaking out being in a new place and I got "peace" about it. Or maybe I just got used to the new place.

I'm not even in a new place right now. My son is 17 months old for crying out loud. Nothing "new" in my life that hasn't been there for a year and a half already.

But I'm not content. I'm like the total opposite of content. I don't even know what content is.

I don't know what I want either, but whatever it is, it's not what I have now.

Crying Shame

Today was fine. So why do I feel like crap?

Why are curse words flying out of my mouth left and right? Seriously!

It's the little things that are pissing me off. Although to tell the truth there are some deeper reasons. (Target's return policy anyone?)

My dinner ended up in the trash tonight. I dropped some noodles on the floor and of course right after I picked them up and put them back in my bowl the man had to say, "I wouldn't eat those, you don't know what kind of stuff it's picked up off the floor". Which meant that when I couldn't figure out which noodles it was the whole bowl went in the garbage.

I would have eaten it without even thinking about it if you hadn't said anything. F you. Now I didn't get dinner because this was one of those 2 bowls only meals. You wanted to give me half of yours, but that only made me more stubborn. No dinner for me, but I'm starving and haven't been eating anything nutritious for days (5 cans of Pringles in a week?).

Which of course leads to a bawling fit and you want to fix it. Damn it, somethings you can't fix and I just want to be left alone. Don't act like I'm rejecting you when I just want some space to have it out with myself. When I really want you to comfort me, I'll let you know. But most of the time you don't comfort anyway, you just want to fix it.

Then since there was laundry to be folded I went on a cleaning jag. Boxes to go in storage that have been sitting around for weeks. When I get out to the storage shed I find that his idea of "organizing" means bigger boxes piled on top of littler ones so the whole thing's about to come crashing down on me. Not to mention one box of his stuff is packed to lazily that the lid won't shut yet there's tons of air space inside the box. Could he be any less organized?

And what in the world are we going to do with an entire bag of fertilizer and one of some other powdery substance? We live in the city for crying out loud! Get rid of the science experiments already. You haven't used them in over a year and it's getting powder all over the rest of our stuff.

20 minutes later and I'm done with the shed. There's a ton more space now and our Christmas decorations aren't buried on the bottom. Much easier to get them out now when I don't have to worry about piling boxes on 2 feet of snow come December 1st. If we even do a tree/decorations this year. I'm not sure I'm up for it.

I just want my life to be organized. Is that too much to ask? I used to do okay. Now, not so much since I have myself, him, and the baby to keep together. I get to the end of my days and feel exhausted with nothing to show for it. Blogs are sucking me in, I'm not sleeping well so I have no energy and there are certain things I can only do when the baby's sleeping and certain things I can only do when he's awake. Where does the cycle stop?

This is my life

These are my inmost thoughts. I have nowhere else to share them so I share them with you, anonymous internet. Maybe you can help release the demons in my soul.

Tonight, my husband told me that I say things that insult people. Then, when I apologize, I don't apologize for hurting their feelings, but only for saying something insulting. If, and that's a big if, I even realize that I have said something that comes across as insulting. Most times, apparently, I don't even realize that what I have said comes across as insulting. My brain just thinks something in response to the situation and my mouth spouts it before I can even think it through. I didn't even realize it was a problem until tonight.

It makes me ashamed. It makes me wonder if this is why I feel like I don't really have any friends. Are they all just pretending? Do they see me as someone to be pitied? That I'm living in my own little bubble truly oblivious to everyone around me? Am I that oblivious?

I don't want to be my mother, but I'm afraid I am already. Sometimes I am ashamed of her. I know I was ashamed of her in high school because of her style, rather her lack thereof. Now at times I see her as desperate. Desperate to be loved and needed by anyone outside her family. Am I the same way? I fear that I am and didn't even know it.

I don't want my son to grow up and be ashamed of his mother. I love him more than my life. It's completely trite, but true. At times, like right now, I think he is the only reason I am still here. I almost can't stand the thought of him not knowing me when he grows up. If I left now he wouldn't remember me. Sure he'd miss me for awhile, maybe a few weeks. But someone else would take care of him. His daddy would still be here. Would it be better for him to grow up knowing his mother loved him, but not having to be ashamed of her?

Right now he still needs me physically to feed him. What about in a few months. What will I do then?