Okay, So I Lied

I apparently am incapable of taking a break because I cannot stop my mind and therefore my mouth or fingers (on the keyboard) to stop. The anxiety and sadness is back.

Thinking: future, past, future, past.

How will it work? Why didn't it work? What if it doesn't work again? What did I do wrong last time?

What can I focus on, what new chaos can I bring into my life to distract me from the old chaos or old catastrophe?

What can I do to keep me from just living my life and having it be okay? okay without children for a while? If we are not trying to have kids, I will be thinking "will we be able to have kids when we're ready? when will be be ready? how will we deal with it?

What if we start trying soon? that will give me something else to focus on, but I'll never get back to work at that rate, because all I'll be doing is thinking about how I don't want this baby to die, please let this baby be okay, let me not fuck this one up, too.

I need to think about school, and getting my head back into that place. I need to focus on my marriage which, while strong is still getting the brunt of all this grief -- from all sides. I don't know how to take care of it or my husband and he deserves so much more than I've been able to give him.

I don't even remember what I used to think about before I thought about having kids. I think I used to listen to NPR avidly. I cared about the news and politics. An occasional movie or dinner out with my husband and/or friends.

When I started school again, I found that I had little patience for much of the radio, or even Sunday NYTimes because my mind was full with other stuff.

I don't know how to bring it back, bring my mind back to me. To quiet it down and remember who I am. Or maybe I don't want to remember.

No, that's not it. Yoga helps. Yoga at my clinic. I spent more money than I'd like to admit on watercolor supplies, since that's what I used to do when I was a teenager and needed to express myself.

I have a gorgeous journal and spent too much money on that, too, way back in January. I've written on 3 pages. I have a half a dozen wide ruled spiral notebooks I got for a buck each at target or cvs or the market, because I write big and there's less pressure to write great things in cheap notebooks. But they sit empty because all I can do is sit here and type over and over again, sad, weepy, sad, angry, sad, tears, sad, hopeless, anxious, better, sad, worse, sad.

It's all I've got, it seems.

All the muscles in my chest, neck and arms are tired from crying. Like my heart just keeps breaking over and over again.

I'm alone and but I'm not alone. I am alienating those who love me. No, really, I am. Especially when I have a good day or two, and then disappear because I've fallen apart. I make myself alone. I reject what and whom I love. I make them feel unimportant. Less important. Like all they do doesn't matter. Even though it does.

I'm so tired of it.