You know I have my days when I feel compelled to write. Today is one of those days. I don't really know why, or what to say, as usual. Just a need to reach out, I guess. Maybe I'm feeling alone. I don't know. I feel this panic welling up in my chest. I feel shaky. I could cry, but why? Tears seem pointless to me when there is no one to see them. Maybe that's stupid, but I've always felt that way. Why cry? Crying is just an expression of your hurt. I know how badly I hurt, so what's the point in crying? Yes, it's a good release sometimes, but it just seems pointless right now. I don't guess the tears would come now, anyhow. Not with all of these kids here.

This morning I had a lot of bad dreams. None of them were about 'that', but there were still bad, all the same. I keep having a recurring theme in my dreams and it bothers me. Anyhow, I finally just decided I should stay awake because I was tired of dreaming. I hurt. He's been in my head a lot lately. It seems when I need it least, Satan somehow manages to bring his name up, again. It's like he's throwing him in my face and I'm tired of it. And forgiveness. Ah, forgiveness. Please, someone define forgiveness for me. Someone once told me that it meant that you even though you can't forget whatever it is that happened, you don't use it against that person for harm. Well, I don't. I don't want to hurt him. I don't want the whole world to know what he did. I don't want his family destroyed. That is one of the biggest reasons I never said anything as I child, because I didn't want our family torn apart. I just want him out of my face. I am tired of thinking of him, dreaming of him, I'm tired of it all.

I want a break.

I don't think I'll be getting one. Today is a day that every little thing gets to me. We're out of pull ups and I have a 3, 4, and 5 year old at my house. I don't really want to go to the store. Of course we're out of bread too. And toilet paper. And, you know, food. Sigh. I just want to curl up and cry. I don't understand that, either. Why in the world does a trip to the grocery store so daunting to me? It stresses me out to no end. Of course, so does cleaning my house. Last night I wanted to be in bed at 10:30. That is a very rare thing for me. But I needed to clean the kitchen. I got done with the kitchen, and started crying because I felt like I needed to sweep the floor. It's like, cleaning just the kitchen wasn't good enough. Okay, I lied. I can cry. Now I don't want to cry bc the kids always want to know what's wrong, and I don't really have an answer. Plus my daughter has all kinds of empathy and if I cry, so does she. I don't want to ruin her sleepover. Sigh. I feel like maybe I should get in the shower and cry this out. I have therapy tomorrow, thank goodness. Sometimes it feels like that's the only place in the world I can be completely honest. I just hurt. And I'm tired of hiding it and pretending like everything is okay. It's not okay. I'm not okay. There, I said it. I guess now we can move on with life.
1 Response
  1. Lyryn Says:

    First paragraph... Wow! ME! I have been meaning to email you, but it has been pretty crazy. Thanks for your sweet comment on my Hungry post. Hopefully we'll be able to talk soon. Praying for you!

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  • I'm a wife. I'm a mom. I'm a photographer. I'm a lover of Jesus. My house is a mess, my kids are dirty, we eat take out more often than not. My life is loud, busy and crazy. And that's okay with me.
    This is Eric, the man you've been praying for. He's a paramedic. He quilts in his spare time. No, I couldn't make that up :) He has NASH (a form of liver disease, non-alcoholic) and diabetes, but those things don't define him. He's a man of God, an insanely wonderful husband, and the best daddy in the world.. Just ask these guys..
    Our daughter Ali, she's 9. She's fiercely opinionated and strong willed. She's a Daddy's girl, but the umbilical cord hasn't but cut from me, either. She's a gymnast, and proud of it. She spends more time upside down or turning flips than she does walking. She's crazy smart, and absolutely sure of it. She is my insufferable little know it all.
    Our son Dylan, 7. We lovingly refer to him as Chubs. Or Chubby. Or fat boy. Ahem. He is all boy, as you can see by his crazy wild energy. He has the highest pain tolerance of any child I have ever met. He plays soccer and does gymnastics, but truly he is a gamer, a nerd. He is an avid reader and loves to climb. Not to be outdone by his sister, he's a drama king, but to him, I'm the best mommy in the world.