April 27, 2017

All The King's Horses

I'm still navigating my way through all feels birthmother, and now the decision to go back to school and get some pretty letters after my name so I can be taken more seriously. Lately I'm experiencing this underlying resentment that all of this is so much fucking work. 

Feelings are exhausting. I feel like I'm trudging through quicksand, and if I stay still too long I'm going to sink. There's so much I want to say, but I'm still so attached to the outcome and not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, so I've been stuffing some shit. I've also been eating way healthier now that I've cut out gluten and dairy from my diet, so I can't even disappear into a loaf of fucking bread or pint of B&J. 

I'm not even sleeping anymore, because my brain is taking every op to lay out all the reasons I already have to be terrified and doubt myself. What the hell am I thinking?

I lay awake at night stressing about emails and phone calls I might never actually return at this point, classes I'll probably fail anyway, and wondering what would happen if I hired a private investigator and just showed up at my mother's front door. 

What's it feel like to have absolutely no say in something that slays a jagged hole throughout your entire life? Lemme show you. 

A part of me really wants to be that kind of person. I wish I really was that stupid or brave or insane. And then I snap out of thinking like a psycho, and cross back into the land of the (somewhat) mentally stable, and I shame myself for even thinking that some invasion of her life and privacy might make me feel better. 

I turn into a petulant child, and want someone to hurt like I'm hurting. I want someone else to pay the consequence. I want permission to say what I'm thinking without fearing the world will end or that I might ruin someone's life. 

I'm tired of feeling like someone's mistake. I'm tired of remaining silent, because someone might not like what I have to say. I'm tired of putting other people's feelings above my own, and I'm tired of pretending that's normal.

I didn't get a say in any of this adoption shit, and I think that's what has me so bothered. Making the decision to pay someone $500 to search for her was the first time I got to call a shot, and the fact that she just left my ball all desperate-looking on her side of the net makes me want to scream in someone's face. I want to take it back. I want to send her a message that she doesn't get to have the first and final say. 

There has to be one thing in this fucked up situation that is mine. But no, my feelings and life are somehow insignificant, and her right to ignore me is more important than my right to know literally anything about who I am or where I came from. 

To boot, when I get all wrapped up in self, I'm a horrible wife, mother, and friend. I have no idea where the balance is between self-care and the time I deserve to sit in my own shit and actually showing up for life. It's all or nothing, and right now it's the latter. I don't want to bother anyone with my bullshit, so I keep my distance; which only prolongs the angst. 

My house is a mess, and last Tuesday I spent the entire day in bed watching Botched; wanting to go out and get horrible nose job so those guys could feel sorry for me and fix my face. 

But alas, my face is not the problem. 

My husband is forgiving because he has so much compassion for what I've been through. His compassion makes me feel weak, and sometimes I wish he'd just yell at me to get over myself. I sat up and ugly cried with him last week, and told him a little more about my past after a difficult conversation with my mother, building on frustrations around feeling like I'm supposed to take responsibility for everyone's missteps. 

Oops, I gave you away. Deal with it. Oops, I married a raging alcoholic who hated you, and I chose him over you so often you don't even know if you're worthy of the air you breathe. But let's just move forward now, because I'm powerless. We can't change the past, and there's no reason to dwell there, because your pain makes everyone uncomfortable. Deal with it. 

I'm starting to wonder if mothers in general might be just terribly overrated. 

When do I get to point fingers and hold people in my life accountable for dropping the fucking ball? I'm tired of feeling obligated to blame myself for having reasonable expectations. 

Writing this book has been incredibly difficult, because there's so much big stuff, and I wonder whose life this has been. When I think about all that I've been through and seen and survived, I feel amazed I ever get out of bed. If this life belonged to anyone but me, I'd understand how and why they struggled as much as I do. But it is my life, and I can't shake the feeling of disgust that I can't just get over all of it. It's fucking pathetic.

I'm riddled with fear about literally everything, and I'm 86.9% sure I'm screwing up not only my own life, but those of my children. I'm no where near the wife my husband deserves. I'm not the mother my kids need, I suck at all things life right now. I'm up to my eye balls in self-pity, and 60% of the time I'm wondering if anyone would really miss me if I just got in my car tomorrow and drove away. 

It sucks to not know who you are no matter how much work you've put in. No matter how much you discover, it all means shit if you can't make it fit with how you feel. 

What also sucks is the inability to cut yourself slack and allow yourself to feel sad for your situation because there are so many other people in the world with actual problems. 

I have an incredible life, and I feel like an imposter.

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