I'm tired of being the boring friend with problems. I'm tired of calling my family and having nothing pleasant to say. Or worse, faking happy. I can't hide that I'm angry, sad and overwhelmed. I don't want to be this person who is so dreadfully unpleasant, who complains constantly, who can't get a grip. I know everyone in my life right now takes a deep breath before they answer my call. Oh, it's Froggymama, brace yourselves for emotional projectile vomit! Thar she blows!
I used to be fun, now I feel like a big bitchy poop. That's right. A big bitchy poop. As a writer, I've dug deep into my descriptive vocabulary cavity and waaaa laaaa big bitchy poop. Brilliant, right? I'm angry at everyone, irritated at the slightest infraction, holding onto my sanity with dental floss. I'm so sick of myself. I don't know if I have a right to be angry or if I'm projecting, and after the anger blows, after the volcano erupts, there is this lava of sadness, this seeping, deep, hot depression. It is an ache like someone has died, but we're all here, just different, unrecognizable.
I can't place it. I can't wrap it neatly into a category and then 'work on' those feelings. It's chaos. I don't know who we were or who we are now. I don't know what our lives will be like, what is best. I'm just lost. I've never felt so completely out of my element. It's like being picked up by a wave and dropped on the beach, mangled and half-drowned. I'm not dead, not paralyzed, just stunned, waiting for someone to pick me up. Waiting for a rescue that never happens.
I watch shows like "Intervention" where families ask their loved-one to go into rehab and I think, "You lucky bastard, GO!" Twelve weeks of therapy and self reflection, time to think and just take care of yourself. I want mom intervention. I want to go to a mom resort where I write in a notebook about my day and progress and walk on the beach and just "reflect." When I get help with Froggy, I spend that time working or cleaning. And every self-help guru and therapist and everyone says, "You really need to take time for yourself." Really? Brilliant. Let me just go meditate, pray or exercise while the dog craps on the floor and Froggy burns the house down and my boss makes his own calls. When exactly should I make time for myself? Who will cover for mom? Who can do Froggy's treatments and meds?
I'm just tired, a big bitchy poop who is tired.
I want to be a positive person again. I don't like this girl. And on top of everything that is what is really killing me. I hate myself right now, because I cannot rise above this. I cannot stay patient and positive. I cannot be the mom I want to be for Froggy. I'm like Fragglerock, a crazy puppet mama who churns out laundry and PBJ's and tells the dog to shut-up when he barks at the skateboarders and I'm so angry at CF. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
Froggy has a cold and is coughing big time, her new g-tube equipment is driving me bonkers and I just hate this f*cking disease. I want a cure now. I want some rest and peace and I just want everything to be okay. I want comfort and a partner. I want someone to hold me and say, "it's going to be alright." But I'm alone. And I keep trying to get comfort from someone who is incapable of comfort. It's futile and sad and I wish I would just keep my mouth shut because what I'm looking for isn't there. It just isn't. And I feel stupid when at the other end of my words is just silence. Always. Silence.
Everyone says this is going to get better, that our lives, because we deserve it, or because statistically they just have to... but man, oh man, I don't believe it anymore.