Yesterday I lost my shit. It was a horrible day. I haven’t flipped out that badly in a number of years, Noah verifies. This is why I document. So I know that I haven’t been doing this all the time. This is genuinely unusual. It was kind of a perfect storm and if I want to prevent the next one I need to figure out where I can change things.

First problem: I am really freaking out over this whole “trying to not look like a dirty hippy” bullshit. I am utterly shocked by the degree this hurts me. This is raising my ambient freak out level every minute and it has been doing so for weeks. I hate my looks. I hate my face. I think I am both just pretty enough to get problems and not pretty enough to be worth anything. I know a lot of beautiful people who are basically paid for existing and being attractive. That is not my life and never could be. Putting makeup on feels stressful. Not because running an eyeliner around my eye is hard but because doing anything to draw attention to myself is potentially dangerous.

The last few times I was raped forcibly were on nights I had put a lot of effort into my appearance. It’s not that every time I have done so I have been in danger. That was over 12 years ago.

But it’s utterly shocking to me how many people feel free to comment on my face. Going to the grocery store is a fucking head fuck. Whether I look good or bad people feel free to comment. I feel like I should start hitting people. But I won’t.

So thinking about trying to look better is making me feel like I’ve been rubbed with a cheese grater and I’m overly sensitive and brittle and angry. And I’ve had a couple of pairs of pants split recently. And more of my pairs of pants are about to split (the fabric is visibly giving up the ghost) and I was supposed to go to San Francisco yesterday so I could go to this neat travel clothing store and try on clothes. So I could have some fun/useful pants for the upcoming travel.

I realized that every pair of pants in my drawer were either purchased for the the time period between my first two pregnancies (MC is turning 8), the trip to Scotland (7 years ago), or the road trip (I shopped 4 years ago). No wonder the ass seams are splitting.

I was also going to look in some stores for a purse of a more appropriate size because all of my options in my house are too small or too big and it’s really frustrating to have to carry a huge backpack all the time for a purse worth of stuff.

But yeah. I didn’t go. So I guess I don’t need those items.

There isn’t a local store that has what I want. I’ve looked.

So yeah. That doesn’t help my feelings.

Also: I set up a tea party with Sarah. I had asked about spending a whole fun day together and getting our nails done and really having some festive pampering time together. That turned into a weekend with Middle Child. She wasn’t going to be able to get nail appointments with me so she said she would just do it with MC. I flipped out about that and said, “NO. I asked for it. It can’t be for him.” But then work fucked her (she’s totally wiped) and we didn’t do the weekend with MC at all. I had wanted a fun dress up day. It turned into a big thing for my son instead of me. Then it got cancelled all together.

So I asked for a thing. It turned into a thing that wasn’t really about me. Then never mind at all.

I asked for it because my bucket feels really empty and I’m tired and I feel shitty and stupid and bad about myself.

And yesterday when I wanted to get ready, before anything had happened… I spent the day begging Eldest Child to do the fucking laundry because I don’t have a lot of cute clothes and they were all dirty.

She put stuff on “quick dry”. So the clothes wouldn’t dry at all in restarting the dryer over and over. It was an accident. She’s a kid. She didn’t know what she was doing.

But I was freaking out about doing laundry for hours. Because I wanted to start getting ready and I couldn’t. And as I’m wandering back and forth in the house fretting about how I can’t get ready for the fun day I really desperately felt I needed… while everyone else in my house had time to gussy up.

I felt like shit. Yeah of course that’s how it went. That’s how it is supposed to go. Because I’m shit and they are not.

So basically I said fuck this. I’m not going to a fancy tea party looking like shit when everyone else gets to dress up and be pretty and have fun. I won’t have fun. I’ll spend the whole time feeling like the food has no flavor because it’s overpowered by my snot as I cry.

Because I’m stupid.

And at some point in expressing my frustration about things working out like this… I hit myself in the head. I didn’t break my glasses (good). But I did give myself a festive bruise on my forehead and hand. They both hurt a lot. Good job, genius.

I asked Noah if I’m obnoxious about the dressing up/wanting to be pretty thing very often and he agreed that it’s something like twice a year I do this. I want to feel like I look nice approximately twice a year. And very frequently my kids stomp all over that. It’s a rough set up for us. Like, going to Dickens Fair. If I’m going to get into costume and dress up that takes time. I don’t do it very often. I’m not practiced and quick. So my kids demand that I make much of them first… and then there isn’t time to make much of me. So I often end up in pants as they are dressed nice and I feel so angry and bitter and unworthy and shitty about myself.

How come me wanting something means they fucking get it and I can go whistle?

My friend pointed out that this was my fault because I need to set the boundaries. Very useful advice, that. So. I have spent a few hundred dollars (memberships on websites where babysitters supposedly gather) and probably over a hundred hours looking for fucking support with my kids. I’ve emailed dozens of potential babysitters. Do you know how much help I’ve been able to find since the babysitter moved away 15 months ago? Yeah. Basically not any.

So. When you tell me that I should create more space for myself… WHERE AND HOW AND WITH WHAT FUCKING SUPPORT?

I’ve tried to hire it. I can’t. I’ve tried finding friends to volunteer. That ended up with the fucking Bonus Mama threatening to hit my kids for years.

We’ve had a lot of processing conversations about what I did to my children by exposing them to that fucking woman. Because I needed god damn support. It’s my fault my children were threatened with being hit if they didn’t clean up after someone else’s children because I needed babysitting and that’s what I could get.

So. Keep telling me how it’s all my fault I don’t have more space for myself. That’ll help fix things. Cause clearly we have so little outside contact because I don’t care and I don’t try. Sure.

I put them in camps. I put them in classes. None of these are enough. I’d be happy to pay the support. I’m not just complaining about not having volunteers. I can’t find an employee. Folks around here want $35+/hr and a guaranteed minimum of 20+ hours a week. To pay for that I’d need to get a job and then I should just fucking put them in school for free.

It’s funny that my kids sometimes try to pull this “I understand. You don’t like being around me” thing. I respond, “Yeah. Clearly I hate being around you. That’s why I sent you to boarding school.” “Wait, what? I don’t go to boarding school.” “Oh. Ok so I don’t hate being around you that much. I just hate being around you so much that I make you go to school for 7 hours a day.” “Wait, what? You don’t do that. You keep me home with you.” “Oh wait. So… I keep you with me basically 24/7 but occasionally I ask for an hour off to be alone in my head and that hour off MEANS I DON’T LIKE YOU AND DON’T WANT TO BE AROUND YOU. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!”

EC was able to wrap her mind around this concept when I explained it in terms of her wanting to go to summer camp and have a break from her brother occasionally. You don’t want an all the time break. But a little break sometimes is nice.

Also, yesterday I hit the wall of running out of medication. I’m down to one cheesecake and vape stuff.

I used the vape pen yesterday after Noah asked me to please do so. I don’t like using it because I almost threw up. My body is not interested in smoking. And when I smoke I have to take a shower before I pick the baby up again which is often inconvenient. I probably ingested 25-50 mg. Lately my usage has climbed back up. The pediatrician told me that if I am in as much pain as I am… there is no detectable impact on Her Sweetness at this point so she was comfortable with me using a bit more. Pain has been negatively impacting my caregiving abilities. So I have been using more. During the pregnancy I white knuckled with 100mg/day. That stayed true for the fourth trimester. In the past three months I climbed to 250-300mg/day. It has been helping a lot. And then I fell off a cliff yesterday when I ran out. That really doesn’t help. But I need to find more coping methods before I try to travel without medication. I think it would be catastrophically stupid for me to show up in Malaysia for the first two weeks of a tolerance break.

This is a warning shot off the bow. I need to get this behavior under control.

My really inappropriate ranting yesterday was about hating myself and feeling like I don’t deserve anything good ever. It didn’t get really grotesque but it wasn’t good. I have apologized but jesus I’m sick of me and my stupid ass useless apologies. I don’t seem to be able to stop fucking up permanently. So the apologies seem so bullshit sometimes. Other people comment on how freely I apologize. Sometimes I wonder if I have devalued it.

I don’t think my children were awful yesterday. I think things didn’t work out and I needed it to work out and I flipped out. Things fail sometimes. Frankly, Sarah was feeling like crap. Everyone in my house is getting sick.

Oh, I’m sure that isn’t helping. My nose is running and my throat is a little sore. The baby is a snot monster. Noah and the big kids are commenting that they don’t feel good either.

Part of needing yesterday was that dressing up with Sarah is one of the more fun activities in my life. I get to do it… every few years. Dressing up has been on my mind a lot lately (not like super formal, but not looking ugly and dirty) so I wanted to remind myself that there are times when it is joyous instead of just stressful and shitty.

And then yesterday happened. Cheers.

I don’t think anyone fucked me. I don’t think anyone was purposefully mean or rude or selfish or anything. Things didn’t work out and I have no bandwidth for absorbing disappointment.

The weekend party is going to be stressful as fuck and not about being pretty. I just can’t. There will be absolutely no room in that weekend for me to be stupid and think about my stupid face. I just can’t. That’s not fair to my friends. I can’t allow myself to even have prettiness cross my mind or I’ll fuck things up. Like I do.

I can have fun with my friends. But I can only do so many things at once. “Prettiness” uses so much fucking bandwidth. It’s so overwhelming and draining. It takes time and energy and focus and rechecking and being careful and mindful all the time of touching my face and…. I can’t do that and focus on a bunch of people. I am not capable. I am too pathetic.

Hey I remember completely freaking out at the last big birthday party I had. (30th) I wonder what I’ll do to fuck this one up.

And tomorrow is dear Middle Child’s 8th birthday. He has quite a day planned out. He knows exactly what he wants to eat all day. He knows what games he wants to play. I do have a therapy appointment… it uhhhh seems important…

I have two therapy appointments before we go to Mexico. Seems wise. I’ve seen my therapist twice in the past 9 months.

All things considered…. I’m holding together possibly better than expected.

I feel ashamed when I attach emotional importance to events and then things go sideways and I’m upset. It feels immature and like a real problem. Like I should be more mature or some shit. But I get to see Sarah once a month and we skip a lot of months for health reasons.

I am experiencing distress around how much of my energy and time are sucked into care taking other people. It’s my life and I choose it and I don’t want to give up the life I have. But it’s a lot. I get really tired and worn out and I feel very depleted.

Out of the past 30 days only 10 days have involved walking less than 3 miles. Most of those days were like 2.8 miles. I’ve been within spitting distance over/under 5 miles on 8 days. We have 7 weeks until we go to Malaysia. During that time period I need to make it so I’m not going under 4 miles on any days and have at least some of the days be closer to 7/8 miles. Because we are going to be walking that much in Kuala Lumpur and if we want to have fun while we do it… we need to be in shape. Or we will cry in pain.

Today I need to get a storage unit and start filling it. We are having a house party in five days and I’d like to have space for humans instead of boxes. Lots of boxes.

I need to not flip out like that again any year soon. But I also need to acknowledge to myself that it has been a long time since I have been that upset and that represents a lot of progress. I can be proud of the progress even if I still slip up sometimes.

I’m still in a better place than I was ever supposed to be capable of attaining.

Even though I’m still a fuck up.