The last few days have been dark, despite the blue sky and the brilliant sunlight sparkling just outside the windows of my home. It feels like there is a cloak shrouded over me and I hover between here and there.
There’s a little one, who beacons me, and I am forced to crawl out of bed and face the day.
I feel every bone, muscle fiber, and inch of my skin. My appetite, usually a hearty one, has waned. I sleepily walk to the coffee pot like a robot on autopilot and get my fix.
What exactly is my problem? I just got my menstrual cycle so I know I am not pregnant. PMS has passed so my unusual sensitivity is questionable.
Last night my husband came home late and I had already put the little one down and was edgy, short-tempered, and frustrated. He works long days and is home late most nights. I adore him, but hate his job. As he sat down on the bed next to me, I began declaring just how done I was, how tired, how ready I was to move from the albatross of a house (it’s currently up for sale~AGAIN!) and start a new life away from the one he had with his previous wife. I barely squeaked out the words and began sobbing.
I thought this would be good for me. I thought I would just come over here, start an anonymous blog, purge myself of the evil craziness, and then go about my day living my happy little life.
I have been yanked backwards by my freshly colored hair that is sporting a permanent pony tail these days, revisiting things I have buried, tucked away, and tried desperately to forget.
I looked at my husband after he tried tenderly to feed me words of encouragement, love, and support and I whimpered, “I had no idea how difficult this would be. Telling my story, via the blog, is a lot harder than I would’ve imagined!”
He says, “You don’t have to write about it if it’s too painful.”
I look at him again, wiping away my tears, taking a deep long inhale and then exhaling I say, “Yes, I do!”