I’m two sessions in with my new therapist and so far I feel like I’m dumping toxic waste, but I’m not sure of the point yet.

My last video appointment was just a few days ago, and I noticed something about myself after the fact—I automatically tell people I’m doing fine when I’m really not.

I’ve been so extremely on edge lately that it’s getting difficult to manage my shitty mood at work. I’ve also been having these moments of sensory overload. Once in a while this happens at the grocery store, particularly if it’s busy/crowded, I’m dodging other shoppers, my son is pestering me to buy him something, and my husband is simultaneously competing for my attention like a hyperactive child with a story to tell. All the while, some Shania Twain song is blaring from overhead speakers, so loud I can’t think. Sometimes it gets to be so much that I get angry that DH is 100% oblivious to my state of crisis and just keeps babbling right over my son’s whining and I snap at him. “Okay! Just STOP talking!”

The other day, I had enough control to mumble something about needing quiet. “Too much, too much”. I could only illustrate how I felt by shaking my fingers on either side of my head because it was like my language skills just wanted to default to “Everyone just shut the fuck up!”

Still, the words “Not too bad” came out, even though I’d been feeling pretty irritable for the past couple of weeks. I told myself it’s probably just my period coming up. PMS, for me, tends to start mid cycle and won’t stop until Aunt Flo’s taking up closet space. But that actually hasn’t been my normal for a while, so who knows?

I remember the summer when I was 13, my mom went off the deep end and Dad checked her into the hospital. She was depressed, anxious, not sleeping, crying, crying, crying. She got her period the very next day. That’s the year I learned about a lot of her childhood trauma.

She was the same age I am now. I promised myself I would protect my mental health so my son wouldn’t grow up afraid of upsetting my fragile wellbeing. The way I still won’t upset my mom’s, almost 30 years later.

My therapist seems intent on asking me about my problems with my husband—which are plentiful—but I feel like my problem is so much more. My problem is that my boundaries have been compromised so often that I swing wildly between slamming my door in everyone’s face or allowing myself to be walked on.

It’s 4am and I’ve been up since 2. I took the day off since my son has kindergarten orientation this afternoon. I’d rather keep him home with me the whole day instead of picking him up early from his therapy center, but DH wants us to spend time together without him. I’m so fucking far from being in the mood right now, but I’ll do it anyway, because who cares how I feel? I’m just here to keep the peace until I can peace out.

DH seems to think our big problem is that we don’t spend enough one to one time together—like that’s going to solve our problems. He hasn’t asked what I think about it—no surprise there. I don’t want to hang out with him. He’s killed my affection. Now he just bores and annoys me.

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