I'm tired.
It's a ridiculous little sentence that doesn't come close to expressing the true depth of my feeling. Exhausted. Drained. Depleted. Fatigued. Empty. Maybe those help paint a picture. But in the end, what of it? This is life as we know it. For now. It will change, it will get better.
The thing is, I'm not just tired. I'm all kinds of things. Tired is just the easiest one. I have this intense urge to cry but no energy to expend in that kind of emotional outburst. I don't particularly care of the feeling.
It was not a good week. Discouraging on too many fronts. Flare ups of temper. Fits of desperation. Flights of... well, something. My point is that I don't feel like things are going well and I hate the idea of it all. I'm too tired to pick myself up and keep going.
Odd Hours
When I woke up his morning, it was because the baby was crying from his bed
Though it might as well have been in my ear
So I dragged myself down the hallway and settled in to see to his Need.
As I sat there, half despairing, the room gradually lightened with the sunrise.
I wanted to appreciate the moment, to feel excited about a new day and all that
Over hyped crap,
But I never really got along with the sunrise.
Sunset, now there is were my heart lies.
The colors slowly fade away, leaving you wrapped in a gentle darkness, and at that moment I have the most faith in tomorrow.
I find myself awake at 4 am often these days, and discovered that the hour fosters strange thoughts.
The last few mornings I have forgiven a number of people I don't speak with anymore.
I offered the apology to the predawn light
Seeking solace in the diffuse glow.
At sunset, I was sure they all heard.
OK. So it's not terribly good. But what can I say? I'm too tired to think straight.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Ah, the joy of infants and other stuff
Xavier is 13 days old now, and I stand in awe of this... well, all of this amazingly complicated messy joy. I'm unbelievably emotional, suffering tsunami category hormonal waves. I'm also exhausted by the critically short periods of sleep. The surgery incision is slowly healing, and I hope to actually sleep in my own bed sometime in the next week or so. I have reached a point where I'm seriously considering buying a new couch; I'm so sick of looking at/sitting on/sleeping on this one. [It won't happen, though, because I'm too cheap to replace a perfectly good couch just because I've been using it as a bed for over a month.]
In the midst of all of that insanity, Xavier's just plain cool. He looks at me with his old man wrinkles and I just have to smile back at him. I'm frankly astonished by how very small he his, and how distilled basic human need is in that little body. I'm looking forward to finding out how he will express himself, how we will all fit together.
On top of it all, I'm being constantly reminded how awesome people are. Marc has been running all over the place to take care of us. Ari has demonstrated amazing patience and sheer excitement about the whole thing. We've received kind words, gifts, food, and prayers - all equally appreciated and welcomed. I'm incredibly thankful to all of you, for everything.
The exhaustion and challenges in this process have made other things a lot harder for me. The bad things are always worse under stress. Sure, I can admit that the hormonal roller coaster is kicking my butt all over. Aside from that, though, I've begun to feel like I'm going to fall apart at any given moment. Or explode spectacularly. Once again, it's time to circle the wagons and guard against the darkness.
I'm doing the usual things; I'm off to therapy on Friday, I'm being careful to remain in touch with friends, I'm trying to take a little time for myself every day. Today, though, I tried something new. I talked a little about this with our church small group, and they prayed for me. I didn't stand up and say "The darkness is yawning and I'm about to be swallowed whole." I did tell them about the loud nagging voice in my head that constantly pulls me down and sucks away my energy/will to stand firm. This is not something I usually talk about.
The fact is that I prefer pretty euphemisms to the ugly truth. I can smile wryly while uttering some pointed reference. The ugly truth just makes me cry.
Years ago, my therapist urged me to come clean with some of the people in my life about the various problems I've faced or challenges I have. When I finally followed through and reported back to her she raised her eyebrow at me and asked "So? Did the world end? Or the sky fall?" I got her point. It's just one that's hard to put into practice every day.
Have you ever heard/read/found something that struck you so profoundly you could remember it years later? Over 5 years ago, Marc and I were talking about my cycle of depression. And he described it as a circular staircase. As I move along, I keep coming back to the same points over and over, only each time the perspective is very different. At least once a week I think about this idea and try to breathe it in. It's harder than it sounds but as important as you'd think.
I used to walk along bridges/overpasses and be unable to look over the side. I would blame it on a fear of heights. In fact, I really don't like heights but I can usually deal with them. Once a long time ago, I stood on an overpass and seriously consider jumping off of it. It's not the height that makes me dizzy, but the memory of that horrible, despairing moment.
I've decided to start remembering that I walked away. It's a subtle point.
In the midst of all of that insanity, Xavier's just plain cool. He looks at me with his old man wrinkles and I just have to smile back at him. I'm frankly astonished by how very small he his, and how distilled basic human need is in that little body. I'm looking forward to finding out how he will express himself, how we will all fit together.
On top of it all, I'm being constantly reminded how awesome people are. Marc has been running all over the place to take care of us. Ari has demonstrated amazing patience and sheer excitement about the whole thing. We've received kind words, gifts, food, and prayers - all equally appreciated and welcomed. I'm incredibly thankful to all of you, for everything.
The exhaustion and challenges in this process have made other things a lot harder for me. The bad things are always worse under stress. Sure, I can admit that the hormonal roller coaster is kicking my butt all over. Aside from that, though, I've begun to feel like I'm going to fall apart at any given moment. Or explode spectacularly. Once again, it's time to circle the wagons and guard against the darkness.
I'm doing the usual things; I'm off to therapy on Friday, I'm being careful to remain in touch with friends, I'm trying to take a little time for myself every day. Today, though, I tried something new. I talked a little about this with our church small group, and they prayed for me. I didn't stand up and say "The darkness is yawning and I'm about to be swallowed whole." I did tell them about the loud nagging voice in my head that constantly pulls me down and sucks away my energy/will to stand firm. This is not something I usually talk about.
The fact is that I prefer pretty euphemisms to the ugly truth. I can smile wryly while uttering some pointed reference. The ugly truth just makes me cry.
Years ago, my therapist urged me to come clean with some of the people in my life about the various problems I've faced or challenges I have. When I finally followed through and reported back to her she raised her eyebrow at me and asked "So? Did the world end? Or the sky fall?" I got her point. It's just one that's hard to put into practice every day.
Have you ever heard/read/found something that struck you so profoundly you could remember it years later? Over 5 years ago, Marc and I were talking about my cycle of depression. And he described it as a circular staircase. As I move along, I keep coming back to the same points over and over, only each time the perspective is very different. At least once a week I think about this idea and try to breathe it in. It's harder than it sounds but as important as you'd think.
I used to walk along bridges/overpasses and be unable to look over the side. I would blame it on a fear of heights. In fact, I really don't like heights but I can usually deal with them. Once a long time ago, I stood on an overpass and seriously consider jumping off of it. It's not the height that makes me dizzy, but the memory of that horrible, despairing moment.
I've decided to start remembering that I walked away. It's a subtle point.
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