It’s past midnight. I’ve been in bed for hours now. Yet here I am wide awake.
My mind’s sad and alone. After god, my millionth melt down of the past two years I’m exhausted. Yet I continue to scroll. Page after page of perfect lives beaming at me. Like a voyuer from the warmth of my bed, it’s embrace being my only protection from the cold darkness that’s all around me I watch how the other half live.
The perfection that is life portrayed on social media illuminates my face casting a soft cool glow on the buba softly sleeping by my side. It depresses me more. I know it’s not real. It never is. Mine wasn’t.
But as sad as my virtual people watching makes me, I’m destracted. I’m not thinking. So I scroll some more. Dreaming of a life that once was, now will never be.
It’s funny really, in this 24-7 life we share – constantly- we never stop to think about what’s really going on. We watch the videos. We comment. We engage on so many levels but we never really ask… Are those eyes really smiling? How often has she cried today? Did her baby sleep last night?
My own social footprint or should I say my own social silence, here on this very blog, led a colleague to comment recently that he’s happy I’m content. When I asked him where that came from he noted my lack of posts. His assumption being I had nothing to say. I guess it’s a fair cop! Sadly not true. Life has been it’s usual hard self.
I’ve had a million more narc issues to fill these blank pages with than you could ever imagine. But the truth is, well I just don’t have the energy to write. I want to, I do. But I don’t have it. Not right now.
Between working and the muddled mayhem that is what I call motherhood, I’m done.
I get home, another Groundhog Day. I wrestle with my little bundle of flesh and giggles for hour after hour, squeezing the sleep out of him with every ounce of fight I have in me. Only to give up. Give in.
Washing piled up. Dinner dishes stacked. Floor sticky. That’s it. Right there. That’s my perfect life. But no one wants to see that bit. So we smile into the selfie O, A and I and we pretend. We, women perpetuate the feeling of failure in one another. Well not me. It stops here. I can’t do it.
I started this blog with great intentions; to help others who are maybe struggling with similar situations to see that it’s not just them whilst at the same time removing the poison from my body. Somewhere along the way that got lost a bit. And I stopped. This became a page for the victim inside me. I don’t want to be a victim but the truth is I am. And I’m not alone in that. And you know what that’s ok.
So I’m laying myself bare and I’ll say for all of us I’m failing. It’s fucking hard. I’m alone. I can’t.
(Right now… I will again. But not today.)
Yes I cry and shout and sleep and snap and order take always but I’m alive. I’m Still fighting. The boys are alive and right now that’s the best I can do.
If my confession of failure allows one, just one of you to have a melt down, a momentary lapse then forgive yourself and move on then I’m back on track.
We all need a little cry. It’s ok, no ones perfect regard less of what it may seem, remember that before you beat yourself up again.
Tomorrow’s another day! Move on
And now to sleep xx