Not my finest hour

It was a long stressful day. Culminating in a trip to the dollar store, where my kid defied me at every turn, ran around like a banshee and screamed that I was hurting her if I tried to hold her by the hand or pick her up and carry her. People were staring. That’s not my paranoia. By the third person gawking at me continuously no matter which aisle we were in…I snapped.

I said, “Let’s go because the next person who stares at me I am gonna use their intestines for a jump rope.”

Not

my

finest

hour.

I could make excuses, rationalizations, apologies.

I’m not going to.

My kid has me ready to resign as mommy. Earlier at my mom’s she told me she didn’t want to come home with me. She said she didn’t like me.

I try so hard for her and I know kids, especially toddlers, are an ungrateful lot because they don’t grasp the concept of gratitude or the world not revolving around them…

But it really hurts to love someone so much and have them punch you in the face emotionally ten times a day. I’m barely keeping my head above water and it feels like my own kid is against me, wanting me to go over that edge.

Distorted thought? Panic talking? Too much stress?

I thought about calling the counseling crisis number, just to have someone to talk to, see if they have any ideas what I should do. I mean, I am known as the emasculator of men, I make grown men and women cry because I am allegedly so mean (I prefer the term brutally honest.) Yet with this mini me from hell, I am but a joke to her. Her disrespect and humiliating me in public hurts in ways I can’t begin to put into words. I want to quit this mommy gig.

Hell, I want to quit this life gig.

I should make the call but then there’s a record of me losing my marbles, which can be used against me to prove I can’t handle being a mom.

I can deal. But it’s gotten harder since the med change. And there are just some days where you feel so utterly hopeless that things will ever change, that you will ever be able to reach that cyclone called a child…My counselor assures me this is normal.

I still feel like an ogre.

And I really need to stop threatening to snap people’s necks and use their intestines for jumprope. It’s one thing if it’s a joke. Tis another thing when I am just going off the rails with paranoia and panic.

And it’s utterly unnecessary is the sad thing.

I hate myself.

 

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