You know, I have had a rotten day. And up to now, I couldn’t have told you what exactly was wrong. It’s just one of those days. Most people would just chalk it up to the hormones of pregnancy, but I know that excuse doesn’t fly in this house.
And now Kurt and I have gotten into a fight, and all I want to do is throw the towel in.
I thought adulthood was supposed to be easier. I thought things weren’t supposed to bother adults as much.
Honestly, I am sick to death of being 29. I have loads of friends that are older than me, and once they hit their 30s or their 40s, they are so much more confident in themselves. They know they’re good people, and they couldn’t care less if someone doesn’t agree.
It’s just so hard for me. I feel as though I’m the scapegoat for all situations, that I’m the cause of all problems. People wonder why I’m so sensitive, and it’s a result of a lifetime of being at fault for everything. Some not-very-nice things happened to me when I was a kid, and at the time I was always told, “Well, if you were a better kid, if you didn’t do X, we wouldn’t have done that to you.” It’s a horrible way to live, a terrible way to grow up.
Now I’m expected to just get over it. It’s fine. No worries.
For the record, I am trying. I do recognize that I’m not at fault for everything. Sure, I do have faults, and I do screw up. I’ll be the first to admit that. I’ve got a hot temper, and when I think something is unfair I’ll let you know about it. Sometimes I probably carry things too far. I ain’t perfect. But it would be nice if there was a shared burden of blame. I know I can only control myself. I know I should just remove myself from the situation. I know I can only change myself. But dammit, it’s so frustrating, even still.
God, now I feel like I’ve turned this into a high-schooler’s journal.
And then I think, where the hell do I get off feeling this way? My kid’s healthy, this pregnancy is going just fine, my husband has a good job, we haven’t got money issues… I look around see people who can’t put food on their tables. I see families ripped apart by addiction or abuse. I see people with severely handicapped children, where taking care of them is a full-time job. So where the hell do I get off feeling like I’m invisible? Does it really matter, since I have all these other blessings?
But I still feel as though I’m totally replaceable. If God snapped His fingers and I disappeared, to be replaced by another woman in my shoes, would anyone really notice? When I’m in a mood like this, I don’t think anyone would.
I try to be one of those obnoxiously optimistic people. I see a beautiful tree and I point it out. I notice how lovely the warm breeze feels again my skin, I tilt my head up to soak up the sun’s gentle rays. My breath is taken away by the gorgeousness of the sunset. I hear colors in the morning, the loudspeaker on base playing the national anthem, and I’m thankful to live in the US. I don’t want to be a mother who’s mired in depression. I want to be the fun mom, the mom who laughs all the time, the mom who chases her kids, laughing and giggling, around the house just because.
I don’t know. I wish I didn’t feel like this. All I know is right now, I would love to hitch a ride with Chaos across country. No, it’s not the responsible thing for me to do, but dammit it would be fun.