I’m having a bit of a rough day today. My Husband has been away a lot over the last few months – with the exception of the couple of weeks where we were dealing with the meth heads downstairs and he felt he needed to be here as much as possible to make sure I and the furballs were safe, he’s been working out of town during the week and is just home briefly on the weekends. Mostly I like having the house to myself, especially now that Tweedledee and Tweedledumb are gone and I feel safe at home alone – I get to clean and organize and sleep when I want, and I don’t have to be particularly quiet or worry about which lights I turn on when I get up at 4:15 in the morning to row, because there isn’t anyone else around who’s sleep i’m disturbing.
Unfortunately, since I finished my class last week, and I don’t have anything to focus on other than packing for the next few weeks (well that and work, rowing, my 200km erging challenge, christmas baking/prep, the social stuff that comes with the season, etc.) my brain has jumped into overdrive obsessing about all the fun little aspects of me – you know, those things that I generally manage to ignore or put aside when i’m busy with other things. I realize that a large part of why I stay as busy as I do is to quell that little voice in the back of my head that is constantly telling me i’m not good enough – so when I am less busy the volume of that voice increases. It’s also bad this week because i’m late.
And I know i’m not pregnant. Even if I hadn’t taken a test I would know i’m not pregnant. Granted, i’ve never been pregnant, but I am very familiar with how it feels NOT to be, and this is it. But despite that, I still have that little glimpse of hope that maybe this time i’m wrong… and each day i’m late that glimpse gets bigger, and I have a harder time reminding myself that it’s not a thing. And I have checked – I am definitely not pregnant. I would really like for my period to start so that that fucking little voice would shut up and leave me alone though.
But back to the keeping busy. I think sometimes I worry that I am actually a really shitty person, so I need to do as many good things as I can to make up for that. I sometimes feel like it’s all just one facade that is sometimes exhausting to maintain. But I can’t stop, or give up, or let one of the balls that I have in the air drop, because that’s proof that i’m actually a really shitty person and ultimately worthless. And I can’t let anyone know how hard i’m working to keep up with everything, or how worried I am, or how much other aspects of my self care might suffer because I am keeping all of those other things going, because then I’d be bragging, or some version of self absorbed, and that’s not ok either – the very fact that I know i’m doing things for others to make myself feel better causes the acts to be less altruistic and therefore ultimately selfish and therefore make me a shitty person.
And even as I write that I am aware that I sound crazy. I don’t even know what to call that thought process. It’s something between low self esteem, anxiety, hyperawareness, and narcissistic.
Ugh, I just want out of my head for a while. And for my period to start, so that at least that one little stupid glimmer of “Well, maybe…” can die for another month.