I plan to write a Top Ten Tuesday post today, and I will, but right now, I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself and I need to get this out.
I’m tired of being sick and I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of having to take and record my blood pressure every morning and every evening. I’m tired of having to leave the laundry room door open so the absence of sound reminds me that I was doing laundry. I’m tired of having the concentration powers of a hummingbird. I’m tired of realizing every day that I’m failing at motherhood and I’m failing at caring for my dogs. I’m tired of P having to worry about whether he can do something he really wants to do because he’s not sure that I can care for the house, the kids, the dogs, and myself without killing myself (unintentionally; not suicide, unless you consider trying to do everything when there’s a good chance that trying to do that is going to make me very sick, suicidal).
And I’m tired of not being strong enough to do the things that I want to do. I went to a sewing expo this past weekend for two of the four days it was running. By the end of the second day, I knew that I had made a big, gigantic mistake regarding my level of energy and my ability to cope. I’ve agreed to go to graduation this year for the school that I teach for. I’m now frantic about the decision because the pace for those two days is even more hard core than what I did at the sewing thing, and I’m afraid of what that will mean when I come home.
I’m tired of not being able to be spontaneous. I’m tired of not getting to work my younger dog or play with my kids in the way they would like. I’m tired of looking at the pile of quilts and crafts and thinking that I just can’t do any of that.
I’m tired of having to buy bread and cakes because I don’t even have the energy to mix up the stuff to put it in the bread machine. I’m tired of classes completely draining me and, ultimately, stripping away my censors so that I end up saying things I would just not say.
I’m tired of being told that if I’d just lose weight I’d feel better; if I’d just work out, I’d feel better; if I’d just put Ben in school instead of homeschooling him, I’d feel better. Working out wears me flat out. I get a real endorphin rush for a bit and then I’m flat out exhausted. I can’t work; I can’t think. I can’t be there for my kids, my dogs, or my husband.
I’m tired of being terrified that something is going to happen to Sam and I’m not going to be able to help her.
I’m just flat out tired.