I’m so sorry if I scared anyone yesterday… I truly didn’t mean to. I don’t think I thought a lot about that one before I hit publish, hey…? Thank you so much to everyone who was concerned- I didn’t mean to frighten you. And thanks to the handful of people who ‘got’ that post too- I know I’m not the only one who feels that way, some days.
Please be assured that I am safe. Always, always, keeping myself and my kids safe is my first priority. And I promise they are sheltered from the worst of this, as best as I can manage.
I’ve talked over this one with my shrink… it’s OK. I’m OK. I’m safe. I promise. I see my shrink. I take my meds. I get myself and my kids where we need to be, every time, emotionally, eventually, and I keep us all safe.
That’s the best I can do, for now.
The combination of wanting to self destruct and the loneliness that washes through like a wave on the 6th of every month brings a crippling anxiety attack and my house feels like its eating me.
The silence reverberates around me, and the walls seem to suck in and a voice in my head begins to pound that this is not my life, this is not how it should be, I didn’t sign up for this. My husbands face is everywhere, his voice echoes in my head. Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone. I am afraid of myself. (Safe, not safe, safe, not safe, safe, not safe….)
Safe becomes the keyword. I need to get my children somewhere safe, and then me somewhere safe. I am ashamed of myself and I feel stupid, why can’t I deal with this by now? Why can’t I just pull my socks up and get on with it?
I just… can’t. I can’t. I do it all the time, I just get on with it, do what needs to be done, raise my kids and smile and pretend I’m fine. Tonight I am too fucking tired and fragile and just plain sad, and I can’t do it. I can’t pretend.
I make frantic, tear filled phone calls to the few people who will, occasionally, mind my kids. Working, too busy, doing their own thing and can’t help me. And again it falls on my mum and my heart thumps with guilt as her phone rings.
She is so tired, so worn out, but she never says no, never refuses to help me. All I can feel is shame and guilt and I tell her I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, over and over again. Her patience is worn thin and she’s fed up I am so lucky I have her.
And I run. I play music loud in my car and drive that bit too fast because if I hit a tree it doesn’t matter, my kids aren’t in the back right now and I’ll get to see him again.
I escape to Bunny‘s and crash on his lounge. I watch bad TV, eat pizza, smoke too many cigarettes. I cry and I take Valium and I relax because I the pressure is off, I’m Lori again and not mum and I won’t hurt myself here because someone will stop me, surely. I feel ugly and fifteen years old and I wonder how the fuck my life got to be like this.
But I’m safe, for tonight. Safe, and so are my kids.
That’s the best I can do for now.