Failing At Momming

Thursday of last week I told my daughter she could have a playdate with her friend on Saturday or Sunday. At that time, my mental state was more determined. What I failed to foresee and factor in, however, was how exhausted I’d be between the 24-7 rain of the weekend, being dispatched to fetch my pain in the ass brother (five bucks for two trips to town and two hours of my time, ffs!), and the start of the premenstrual dysphoria pain. Yesterday I barely opened the computer and literally just lay in front of the TV all day. She wasn’t amused with me not keeping my promise. Nor was I. But I simply didn’t have the strength to get the place in order and I don’t have the tolerance for kids running in and out or being inside whining and bickering. I thought a good night’s sleep would help but alas, I woke again today with the spine crushing cramps and every cell of my body screaming in protest of every slight movement. Which meant my kid didn’t even have season appropriate clothing ready, she wore a tank top and it was chilly out and she couldn’t find her hoodie…Which is why I preach nightly for her to lay her clothes out ahead of time. Last night it was all I could do to fight her into taking a bath, let alone worrying about morning…Not that it helped either of us get to sleep quickly,she was still wandering at 9:30 and until I know she’s down, I can’t calm myself enough to sleep so an early bedtime just meant more painful tossing and turning and mentally torturing myself. FOR NOT FEELING PHYSICALLY WELL. As if this disorder is a choice, as if it is something I can just shake off and stop being a big baby over…The PMDD and periods themselves are more agony than LABOR was and this is every fucking month for ten days. I am not saying every month is this severe but when it hits…it really knocks my body down ten pegs and when my mind is already down and out…

I am failing at the mom gig. Big time. She’s bathed and fed and off to school but now I feel lousy for not washing her some t-shirts. Though she told me she had clean ones. I know better than to trust a word she says. Her world revolves around the fucking tablet and games so she’d be sitting right next to a fire in the room and tell me no,mom, you don’t smell smoke, nothing is burning…Sometimes I curse the day I even got a tablet and let her near it. She’s on her 4th one, she is so destructive. And even though she is now ten, she is needier, more dependent, and less helpful than she has ever been. I never thought I’d miss the toddler days but honestly, it was easier because she didn’t have the abilities to care for herself. Now she does and that she is so damn needy, well, it disgusts me. And that;s another sign of my failure as a mom, expecting her to be the independent child-adult I was, so I feel shitty about that, too. And I feel fucking despicable for some of the angry thoughts I was having this morning while she piddle poked getting ready and yapping and my brain was screaming OH JUST SHUT UP FOR ONCE FOR GOD’S SAKE. Now, mind you, I didn’t say this, didn’t raise my voice, but I recognized that surging, seething anger inside that always signals…hormonal rage. It’s like being possessed by a damn demon, it’s so at odds with who I am and how I normally feel.

At least the weekend is over. Saturday sucked. I thought I was off the hook once I got my brother to work and brought Spook home. But nope, that fuck waited til 4:45 and asked me to drive all the way into town to get him because his mom and dad were busy and he didn’t feel well. So off we went in a downpour so heavy I couldn’t see two inches in front of me, so enter panic. And my stewing anger at how living in Armpit means I get stuck taking care of my dad’s goddamn mistake. And yeah, he had an affair with a teenager girl while married to my mom, and made this precious son of his, and this 24 year old man child should NOT be my fucking problem. I took care of him when he was little, I did my fucking time. Least when he was little he was likeable. Now he’s just a carbon copy of my redneck racist MAGA dad and being around him makes me feel disgusted. And not five minutes after picking the idiot up, I had to abruptly keep pulling over so he could open the car door and puke in the road. Because he refuses to take his psych meds with food so he pretty much pukes like that every other day and it’s been going on for 10 years and the doctors say nothing is wrong except him not taking his meds with food. But he won’t change his ways. And they just yell at him yet let him get away with being a man child while expecting me to be some sort of super woman.

Once we got rid of him, I returned home to find my cell phone missing. I’d not gotten out of the car except to head to town and back which meant…my phone was laying out in the yard somewhere in the pouring rain, having fallen out of my purse while we made the mad dash to the car in the rain. And all I could think was, how the fuck am I gonna afford another phone and what about my contacts and all my pictures…I got soaked to the core looking out in the massive back yard til I found the damn thing. I got lucky. The case landed up so it kept it from getting ruined. I dried it with some rice and it still works but IF THAT STUPID BROTHER OF MINE HAD JUST LEFT ME THE FUCK ALONE IT NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED. How am I responsible for THEIR idiocy?

It ruined my entire fucking Saturday.

The PMDD pain ruined Sunday.

Today the pain and irrational hormonal driven anger are ruining it for me.

I had ONE job. Be a competent mom. And I am failing. And I am having all these angry thoughts towards everyone which, yeah, I do have angry thoughts, but this is demonic possession level and I am barely keeping it contained in writing. No wonder in the past I’ve had physical outbursts. In hindsight, I wish I’d just hit some people instead of merely screaming and crying. Maybe getting some aggression out would be healthier than ending up with it all boiling over from being bottled up. But people with mental health issues don’t get to blow up like normal people who reach their breaking point. No, if we do that, then it is a symptom of our craziness. So bottle it up and pray it doesn’t devour you from the inside…

I’m not even making sense to myself anymore. I hope this illustrates just how altered hormones can make your thought processes and emotions. What is annoying or angering suddenly seems like a fury inducing calamity and the more you try to shake it off and talk yourself out of it…the angrier you get because it seems like you are never ever allowed to feel…what you feel.

Except I don’t even want to feel good things with this level of depth, this hormonal emotional knives in a blender flurry of feeling. This is…overwhelming. If I weren’t so depressed and athletically challenged, I’d say axe throwing may be a beneficial way of venting my aggression.

But with my lack of any athletic prowess, it’d turn into an assault charge so…maybe I should just get a voodoo doll. And stick knitting needles into it.

Now to talk myself into hang drying the laundry I ran through the washer. I can barely go outside to feed and pet the cats, the anxiety and depression are so bad.

I think this is the worst it has been in 8 years. Fully medicated and yet utterly heading to a breakdown…

But all I can think about is how to fix my failing status as a mom because, well, damn it, I’m a good mom and the depression can not take that from me. I have got to find more strength to fight somewhere. I’m not going out like this, feeling like my kid would be better off without me because my mental illness has reached fever pitch…this isn’t working for me.

Happy first day of fall, the seasonal affective disorder has arrived. I can tell because the glimmers of hope I had a few days ago…are gone. I am in big trouble.

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