Sinking into Quicksand.

I feel myself slipping.
About to fall into that dark place.
But I can’t.
I’ve got too much to do.
Too many things need to get done...so I do them.

That’s my defense against the darkness: do things for everyone else - from laundry to groceries to making meals & baking delicious delicacies. Doing so much for others so I don’t have to think about or deal with myself. If my attention is elsewhere, I don't have to look inward.

It’s how I protect myself.

I know it’s not healthy.
I know I sabotage myself.
I know my self talk needs (more than) a little work.

But my wife reminds me she’s got her own shit to deal with. I can’t really share my sadness with my kids. Daddy has to make their lunches and get their bags ready for school & make supper & get their clothes out. I need to get up with them in the morning to make their breakfasts & ensure their ready for the day. I make the cookies they want for snacks.

It's a routine: Boys wake me up. I tell them to get dressed. I go make coffee. They come downstairs. I give them breakfast. I sip my coffee. While they eat, I check that their bags are in order, get myself dressed & make sure Mommy's out of bed. When all that's done, I head to my school. I make my list of things to do after school - grocery lists, laundry, is it pizza day tomorrow? civvies day? are they going on trips? play dates? anything special going on? all of this...and I haven't even gotten to work yet. When I DO get into the classroom, I switch off home stuff...and figure out what I need to do at school...yet another set of lists.

I keep most of my thoughts, feelings, frustrations, stresses, tensions tucked inside. Mommy's mental health is all over the place so I've given up trying to pick the 'perfect moment' to tell her what's on my mind or what's going on or what I'm thinking or feeling. I tuck it down, deep inside, burying it, praying it'll disappear or wash away. Often, letting her know how I'm feeling, especially after she's endured another trip to the dark side, brings her down, makes her feel bad, makes things worse.

I write. Or, at least, I try. More often than not, my writing gets pushed to the side until everything else is done. But, by then, I’m too exhausted to think about another person’s needs or experiences, let alone write about it justly. There's a story in my head. One that needs to be told. The characters, talking to me, interrupting my list making on the way to school, have a lot to say. I want to tell their story...but, honestly, by giving them attention, am I spreading myself even thinner? Somehow, no. So I will tell their story. In bits and pieces, Over time. Little by little...

But that's my resolution: make time for me, take time to write. Tell my story...and tell their along the way. Stay tuned.