I’m not sure what’s happened to me lately. I used to be a good mom. I think I still am, sometimes, but not as much as I used to be. And I don’t know exactly what happened or when it all changed.
I’m just so angry, all the time. A lot of it is just about my life in general – I resent that I’m stuck raising two kids by myself while their dad gets to go do whatever he damn well pleases and show up for visits when it suits him. Some of it is directed at Lucy, because that whole “shared bedroom” idea lasted about three nights, and now she’s back to waking me up multiple times a night. Some of it is directed at Catie, because apparently 6 is the age when The Attitude kicks in, and man alive, I wasn’t prepared for that.
There are moments when I love them so much that I can’t stop kissing them and I feel so insanely lucky to have them. But those moments happen a lot less frequently than they used to happen.
I post funny stories and cute pictures on Twitter and Facebook, because it’s all I can come up with. I haven’t blogged in over a month, because the only thing on my mind is how awful I feel all the time.
My nerves are on edge from the minute I pick them up at daycare until I finally get them to sleep. I refer to it as my nightly marathon. Not a single night goes by without me snapping and yelling at some point.
The other night I was trying to eat dinner (after I’d already fed and bathed the kids), and Catie came over to me, and just her touching me on the arm made me flinch and snap at her, “What do you want NOW?”
She was trying to give me a kiss.
Yeah. Mother of the damn Year over here.
The happiest moment of my day is after I drop them off at school and daycare, and I get to go to work and focus on something other than their needs. I dread the weekends because it means they’re all over me for 48 hours.
There’s a constant knot of anxiety in my stomach. There are times that the worst imaginable thoughts flash through my mind. That I hate my children. That I wish I’d never had them. That I wish I could run away and never come back.
I think for a long time, the anti-depressant I was taking (Lexapro, for those of you who care, and which I’ve been on for over two years now) made life more manageable for me. It’s obviously no longer working.
And so, tomorrow, I’m going to see a psychiatrist for the first time. Because I think this requires more help than my regular family doctor can provide. And I pray that this new doctor has something that can fix me. Because this is not normal, and more importantly, it’s not me. This is not the kind of mother I want to be. I don’t want my girls to grow up and remember their mom as this bitter, angry, horrible person.
I know I was a good mom once. Hopefully I can be that again. Sooner rather than later.