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August. Again. The end of summer and the summer was horrible. Again. So I’m returning to my blog to grasp at limbs as I fall from this great height. Denial takes me up like Winnie the Pooh and his red balloon who thought if he could just reach into the hive the treasure would be all his. Then pop. Reality.
This time it’s different. Again. For a million reasons, but namely, this is supposed to be the beginning of the end. Again. A timer going off on the inside that is turning everything on its head. It’s systemic. We’ve never seen anything on this scale before. It’s been about 4 weeks since the rumbling began, and I’m alarmed at the downward turn we’ve taken in such a sort time. Again.
I need a record of this decline. If only to feel like I’m not alone in it.
It feels too late to fight, but we’ll do our best. Can’t leave this baby, again.
There are bad weeks, and then there are weeks that utterly kick my a$$. It’s the kind of bad that has me questioning every single decision we’ve ever made.
Last Friday, CB let us know that she’d be out of town for yet another week. I was startled at the tailspin this put us into. We’ve never felt so hurt and betrayed by CB. Not because she went out of town, but because she’s basically been putting us off since May, promising to help and then renegotiating over and over and over. We’re usually very patient. Typically, we don’t feel like we deserve help or attention, so entitlement has never been an issue. But we feel like being out of town 5 weeks in 3 months with no notice is a little excessive. If we could have walked away from everything going on inside – if we could have packed it up and dissociated it until a later date, we would have quit therapy until after this baby is born. Unfortunately, we’re in too far to turn back at this point.
On top of the ridiculous internal stress, our bio kids have been a nightmare. They start at their new school on Wednesday, and with all of the transition our family is going through, they are understandably under quite a bit of stress. We want nothing more than to give them grace for the insane bickering and disobedience, but quite honestly, our capacity to deal with fighting, noise, and bad behavior is zero. We are exhausted from the constant correcting, redirecting, and breaking up actual fist fights between kids.
Financially, we are under a crazy pinch. We made these decisions – to buy a house, to have a baby, to put our kids in private school – but we have to figure out a way to pay for it all. Our husband just started a second job this week… in the midst of all of this chaos, so now he’ll be gone four nights a week. This leaves me with kids from breakfast to bedtime day after day after day. I know the kids will be going back to school soon, but this week has been a disaster. Even after the kids are in school, though, we’re still missing our number one support person at night. When the anxiety peaks and we’re struggling, he’s not here to add to a sense of stability inside. Parts feel abandoned – even though we know he’s doing all of this for our family. It’s so hard to just be positive and support his sacrifice when we’re going to sleep alone at night. Especially when things are this tumultuous inside.
I know that a lot of the stress is coming from what will ultimately be really good things! It makes it all worse to feel like we’re whining and complaining about things that are genuine blessings. The stress though – we’re not handling it well. We can’t medicate because of the pregnancy, and our coping skills are just not quite cutting it. When the panic attacks hit and the temper flares out of control, there is no relief – especially when the kids won’t let up long enough for us to even really take a break and reset.
Ultimately, I guess we’re just going to have to hang in there and pray that seeing CB again and having the kids in school will alleviate some of this pressure. Otherwise, we’re going to have to seriously reconsider our course of action. It’s not worth having a new house or kids in private school if we’re too suicidal to know what’s going on.
Hanging on by a thread,