I have approximately twenty minutes until I am back on duty. I haven’t been productive today. I have hung out with the kids. It’s interesting trying to determine how much work I “have” to do before I “deserve” rest. And what is the difference between working at a slow pace and not working at all?

Forward progress. Always forward progress.

I’ve been busy and seeing people. It is making it so I am not really in my head even though I am in my head. I can’t complete my thoughts. I can’t figure out why I’m in a specific mood. I have to just ride it out.

I didn’t think about Monday being my brother’s birthday until 2/3 of the way through the day. Then I felt like I got punched in the chest. 36. Happy Birthday Tommy.

I am not supporting Noah how I should. I feel a lot of guilt about that. I feel like I have nothing more to give. I know he needs support. I know he needs more direct affection. I just feel like I am choking and gasping and going under the water for the third time.

I don’t even feel exactly sad. I feel flat lined. I feel like a heavy weight is sitting on my chest. I feel like I am swimming through molasses. I think this is “depression” but what it feels like is wearing a 50 lb. baby in an awkward carrier in front of you. It’s terrible for your back and balance but it’s not impossible.

I don’t feel sad exactly. I feel so grateful that I get to spend my days the way I do. I’m so grateful that I get to see Shanna and Calli all day and watch them grow in slow motion. I’m glad I get to play and worry about food and make a box house and that’s all I have to do in a day. (We are getting around to building with the boxes we have been given. The structure grows daily.)

I feel like I am on pause. I am waiting for life to start. I don’t know what I should be doing. I don’t know what I should be saying. I just know I’m going to do it wrong so I feel paralyzed with fear. I don’t know how to take the first step–won’t I break everything? Won’t that be the end?

But I’m gardening. I want to paint. I don’t even know what. I want to work on a book and I don’t have time.

Time. Time. Time.

I feel like I chase time. Up the stairs down the stairs out the back door and down the mountain. Time, get your ass back here. Do I need to count? 1. 2. 3. Fine you get time out.

It doesn’t work that way.

I exist in between. I am neither this nor that. I am neither here nor there. I am in limbo. I am just a mom. I am nothing on my own. I am a support structure. I am scaffolding. I am hollow. I am stronger than I look. Like hollow steel tubing. It’s bad ass stuff.

I feel weak and I feel strong. I feel like this feeling of hollow is my entire body and mind and soul waiting for whatever is going to come next. The past two years have been intense. Come May it will have been two years since Uncle Bob died. This period of freak out is just about over–right?

What’s next?

What grief is next?

What will I stare at next?

What will I do? What will I make? What will I say? Will it matter? Will anyone listen? Will anyone give a shit?

I don’t know. I have to matter to me even if I don’t matter to anyone else. That’s the first step and I’m having a bitch of a time making it. I get mattering to other people. I get trying to fulfill obligations to other people. How do I act worthy of me.

How do I decide that I deserve the things I have in my life now? How do I settle in and get comfortable with my overwhelming privilege? How do I learn to feel like this is really my life and no one is going to drag me out of the house by the hair soon. No one will throw me out. I get to be here. I’m allowed.

The next couple of rounds of EMDR I want to focus on two things: feeling more permission to live in my house. It has been the home of my family longer than it has been anything else in the memory of anyone I know. Can I let go of the ghosts of the girls who came before me? Because I still feel like if they wanted to come back I would have to go and give them back their place. Even though Noah sure as shit doesn’t feel that way. I do. I feel like it isn’t my place. Still no. I’m trying.

I seriously need to do work on my birthday. I asked a friend to go with me. Then she had the audacity to go and get pregnant. Whatever. Luckily I have this other friend who is not breeding and she is available to come with me instead. It was hard asking one person and harder asking a second person. I’m glad I asked both people. I would have had fun with the first person and I’m actually glad she is getting the child she wants. I’m always thrilled to pieces about more wanted children. But I’m glad I have another friend who has more time. That’s hella convenient and all.

I know I matter to people. Kind of–I know it abstractly. I wish I felt it. I wish I felt like it was ok to ask people to do things with me. I’ve been trying really hard to put myself “out there” and I have solicited a lot of socialization recently. The turn around is I spend a lot of time crying hysterically when no one is around. Whoo.

Ok, that was 18 minutes and she’s about to get out of the pool. Time to stop writing.

I’m coming to Portland. I’m looking forward to seeing people. It’s weird trying to understand that people really and truly do like me. I can’t see why.