For some reason today feels worse than all the other days. And I'm not at all sure why.
Maybe it's because the test is over and done with and I don't have anything to fill my thoughts but with WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU AREN'T DOING ENOUGH! DO MORE! WORK HARDER! TRY HARDER!
I have to get a job. It's very simple. Yet, I still feel horribly displaced and out of sorts by all of this. My baby is away from me every day and I only see him three hours a day during the week. That barely feels like mothering to me after doing it for 24 hours a day for more than 3 years.
I know that many displaced homemakers such as myself have gone through this and it's comforting to know there's a universe of women who know what this is like... but it still sucks shit. It sucks. fucking. shit. And a half.
This past Friday my financials with Rooster split. Meaning, half his paycheck goes into my own separate account now. I received my cards in the mail weeks ago, but never activated them. I thought I was lazy, but really, I was in denial. As I slid the card in the ATM slot Saturday to activate it a little piece of me shredded. My own account. Alone. Separately.
Rooster is cracking under the financial strain of doubling our expenses. I don't blame him. Meanwhile, I continue to shatter into a million tiny bits and pieces. A little here. A little there.
I look into Hawk's ocean-colored eyes with the dark blond lashes and I see love and hope. I look into the mirror and I see sorrow. Stark and lingering.
I'll be ok, I know this, but... but I don't know what.
I look at my friends and I see more love and support. I would drown if it weren't for them, their belief in me. I am dried up inside. I care about so very little anymore. I feel almost nothing when I am alone.
Every day I think about my future and my baby's. I am proud of myself and feel strong then I get sucked into a vortex of fear and self-doubt. I love my life -- love it -- but it also feels like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One week I am Jessica. Rowdy, raucous, bold. The next, I am Mommy. Loving, responsible, devoted.
Each week causes me whip lash they are so utterly different and each so potent in their affect on me.
My bank card somehow proves this. I am on my own. Alone. Both me and myself.
Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThisIsWorthwhile/~3/z2_FOyoMr7Q/new-bank-card.html
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