Thus Begins The Descent

I feel like I’m going crazy. Let’s be real. I am going crazy.

Blame it on the lack of sleep. Blame it on the kids. Blame it on the lack of adult communication. But I don’t think I’m okay. I don’t know if I ever was okay. Not only am I in a constant crisis of searching for an identity, I am actually not sure if I ever had one. As I delve deeper into this social psychology class, I don’t even know if I identify with a group which apparently is super important in evolving as a person.

I had yet another melt down today. Except this time I actually thought about running away. Seriously. I thought about packing a bag and going to the gym for a few hours to clear my head since running away to Bora Bora wasn’t an option. I’m just so sick and tired of repeating my days and my words over and over and over again to these kids. It’s as if they’re falling on deaf ears. And, before you say it, I know. I know this is what being a parent is all about. Tolerating them through their mistakes and growing pains until they get it right. But that feels like it’ll happen in five billion light years. I’m tired of being on-call every single minute, every single second of every day. Seriously.

You turn around for one second and Dom has his hands on scissors. You turn around to handle that and Shane has taken off his pants and diaper. You turn around to take care of that issue and Dom has gotten a hold of a car track and chasing Donte around the living room trying to hit him over the head. You handle that and Shane has climbed a chair to try to get to the leftover Goldfish and smoothie on the table. You get him off safely and Dom is now climbing the hubby’s computer chair and pounding away on the keys. I’m just really, really, really tired. Tired of life. Tired of existing solely to have eyes on two danger-loving toddlers who seem to love going diaper-less but are not yet potty trained. All day. From the second their little eyes open to the very long hours their little bodies finally fall asleep.

I’m just tired of answering the same questions from my parents about the kids and life. I’m tired of justifying every aspect of my life to my parents. I’m tired of saying “I’m okay” when I’m really not only because there’s nothing anybody can really do to help. I’m tired of constantly feeling like I’m failing at life. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just wasting everyone’s time and energy in existing when I fail as a mother, wife, and daughter. Every few days or so, I end up going to a really dark place which has been taking me longer and longer to get out of. But during those good few days, they’re great. They remind me why I love where I am. They remind me that these moments too shall pass. They remind me that if I can just get through those dark patches, I will come back and continue fighting through the obscurity that is this stage of life.

But I guess for now I’ll just keep praying that He gives me the strength to make it through these

Guilty

So our dog is acting up. I’ve been switching his feed times from anywhere between 12pm – 4pm and I think he’s not doing the best dealing with the changes. He’s been having accidents in the house; peeing and pooping. He’s been nervous around other people again and he’s been antsy. I haven’t been taking him out as often as we used to. We take him out in the morning, after his lunch, and after his dinner meals; 6a, 3p, and around 11p. Recently, we’ve been working around home health visits, doctor appointments, and other such activities. Baby Shane’s feeding times have been all over the place. Baby Cody’s feeds and walks have been all over the place. Baby Donte was without food for a full day because we didn’t have time to get to the pet store and get his dry food. I know I should be getting back to the basics and put together a routine for all the babies, but it’s so difficult. I set a routine and I don’t wake up on time and throw off the entire day. Sometimes I’m just exhausted. Sometimes the babies start spitting up, chasing squirrels, refuse to go to the bathroom, are feeling lazy, or being just plain butt-facey. Even with the dog having accidents everywhere, I feel like a failure. I know it’s my fault. Ultimately, I’m the one who is responsible for them. I should be the one who takes care of them, makes sure that things like this doesn’t happen. I feel like a failure when my baby cries because of a soiled diaper or because he’s just fussy and wants to be held. I feel like a failure when my cat is rubbing up all over me because he feels neglected and ignored. I feel like a failure when the dog is chasing the cat because he isn’t getting enough stimulation and feels cooped up at home with all his pent up adolescent energy. I feel like a failure because I feel like I have to stay home and make sure Shane attends to all his doctor’s appointments and is getting enough stimulation for developmental growth. I feel like I can’t continue school because I have a 2.0 GPA and I am being forced to step out of the program until I can raise it back up to a 2.5. I feel like a failure as a wife because I’m not making money and not contributing financially. I can’t cook too well. I can’t clean very well. I’m a procrastinator. I’m exhausted all the time. I feel like I’m a failure for feeling like a failure. I know I can’t juggle everything, but I can’t help feeling like I should. Are my standards too high for myself or am I just feeling everything others feel? Either way, I’m guilty of being a failure. At everything.