Wednesday, Oct. 31, 2018 - 11:35 a.m.

I feel like in general the kids are becoming a little more manageable. But I’m still how I am. So overwhelmed by the disgusting, cluttered mess that is our home. So dispirited by every time someone dumps out a box of toys and I have to pick them up. Only to have them dumped again. I hate all this crap we have but don’t have the spine to deal with the wrath of the children and grandparents by throwing it all out. Sometimes I put things away to be given away but then we never get around to actually sneaking them away to the thrift store.

I chase avoidance. I endure touching and yelling and demanding and grabbing. I say, “that was fun but I have had enough now, please stop. You need to stop.” And no one stops and suddenly I panic and break away and someone is crying and feeling rejected.
I take as much as I can and then I snap.

I chase my little bit of guilty pleasure as often as I can to ground me and help me escape. It’s too much and it’s not enough.

I’ve always needed control and I still don’t have enough. I will never have enough until I have it all in my own hands again. My choice about whether to speak or not, what to do next, where to direct my attention.

That feeling I get when I have been: make egg. Make another egg. Make toast. Make eggs. Get milk. Make more toast. Get water. Change diaper. Make egg. Make sandwich. Open package. Make toast. Make another sandwich. Fielding instructions and fights and complaints the whole time. Not just doing it in peace. Answering questions about why I’m doing it this way. Demands about what to do first. People standing between me and what i’m trying to do. This feeling when I have slogged through it of needing REST. Not because I am physically tired but because I need to STOP.

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