I am raging on the inside right now.
The desire to throw things and scream and cry and just let it all out is practically overwhelming me.
For the past five minutes I have lain here with my hands on the keyboard, my face buried in a pillow (I'm on my stomach, stretched out across the couch) trying to figure out how to proceed.
I am scared. When I really stop to think about it, to analyze it all, it comes down to fear.
Scared of what, you say?
I haven't seen or heard a melody in almost a year. My creativity has run off to play with the kids down the street and always picks me last for kickball.
My health is failing me on so many levels, i.e. having to have my eardrums replaced in order to save my hearing, hypothyroidism, insulin resistance, PCOS, weight gain that came out of nowhere...
I'm scared to look in the mirror. I don't recognise myself any more.
I'm scared that I weigh 198 lbs and I'm only 5 ft 3 inches.
I'm scared that I even typed that.
I'm scared of what people will think of me knowing how heavy I am. I hate this. I don't want to care. But I do.
I'm scared of my past. Well, I'm more scared of other people's perception of my past, if that makes any sense. Which is silly.
I'm scared when it comes to music because I wouldn't know what to do with it even if I DID write something. But then I think, to hell with it, I just need to get something out. I feel like a pressure cooker. I feel like a ticking time bomb.
I'm scared of trying to schedule being creative around a 2 day a week 3 hour long Mother's Morning Out program. The idea that I can only attempt to write anything between the hours of 9:30am and 11:30am Tuesday's and Thursday's makes me feel crazy. My songs have never worked like that. They used to show up at all odd hours of the day (Some even ones, too) and I remember having the capability to hear them clearly, to play with them. Now they seem like they're downstairs, in another room maybe. I can hear them but faintly. Mostly not at all.
I am scared that my life seems to have been relegated to a calendar and scheduling and who has to be where when can you go here do that wait we forgot that we have to do this too I don't have socks you boys need a haircut we're out of milk oh shit a poopie diaper oh was that a melody idea CRASH what in the hell was that Hawke stop eating the dog food I need to bring the snacks for class tomorrow Gracie stop eating the garbage what is for dinner Honey we need to do a critique for the blog pay the bills laundry laundry laundry shower try to look presentable wait was that a melody idea oh Hawke is up from his nap time for snack pick up the boys...
Zack gave me a talking to earlier.
We take turns in this. He gets into a funk and I give him a talking to, call him out on his bullpoop and tell him he's being stupid and that he needs to get his head out of his ass and remember what's important.
Well he gave me that talk tonight.
It's much easier to give it than to take it.
I have no sense of direction right now. I have this amazing little studio in my back yard that my darling husband got for me and I have yet to spend more than a few hours in it.
I don't know how to balance creativity and motherhood.
I'm either one or the other. I'm that way in so much of my life. All or nothing. Black or white. Feast or famine.
I don't know much of what this post is about. I guess it's to say,
"Hey everybody, I'm a big, fat, stinking mess."
And if ONE person tells me to "Just give it all to Jesus" I will LOSE IT.
I already know every single phrase we Christians pull out to give to other Christians during rants like this. It's like our own box of Pithy/Cliche tissues that we pull out when someone has icky "What the hell is wrong with me?" snot running down our faces.
I don't mean to sound harsh.
It's just....I don't know.
I just... ugh.
I need a hug. I need space. I need a little room to breathe. And, yes, I need God to help me figure this poop out.
All I know is that I am not being a very good wife and mommy right now.
One of my favourite authors is Katherine Paterson and she wrote one of my favourite books, Jacob Have I Loved. In the book she writes, "To fear is one thing. To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another." That's exactly how I feel right now and it frustrates the hell out of me.
I'm shutting down when I want to be wide open.
I long to have direction and a purpose again.
I long to not be, as Shaw once said, "a feverish selfish little clod of ailments..."
Ack. I'm done ranting.
Thanks for hearing me out, or not, if you didn't. ;-)
I found the Shaw quote I was thinking of by the by...
"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy." George Bernard Shaw