Get updates from Tabulous straight to your inbox! Just enter your email:

Monday, October 28, 2013

Existentialism At Midnight.

It is midnight and I'm breaking my cardinal sin of working in bed (or really the bedroom at all) because I can't find the time in any other part of my days.

The days are getting shorter now, and the air carries on it the whisper of winter, a delicate preamble to the maelstrom impending. It is dark when I wake up and it is dark as I put my children to bed and the sunlight in between, if it manages to reach through the overhang of flat, dull clouds -- it burns out so quickly, before I can even catch my breath and walk outside with a cup of coffee to just breathe.

I am struggling.

I know it's not possible for my endorphins from the half marathon to have lasted this long, but I feel as if I'm just now coming down from that anti-high and I am hurtling with gravitational force down, down, downwards nearing a place I both fearsomely loathe and quietly crave.

It's manifesting in how I look at this space -- one of the last realms I still feel like I have control. For a while, I felt like I was really on top of things, about to crest over some wave that would land me in an echelon with those who have parlayed these kind of things into Bigger and Better but then it all abruptly stopped, though I can't pinpoint where or when. I'm not sure what I did or where I went wrong but somewhere in there, I went from being good enough to not and I don't know how to reverse that.

My offline life is much the same -- opportunities disappearing; friendships fizzling; crises after new crises piled up on the desk in the kitchen and the dining room table until it's time to eat our paltry family meals, then off to another remote location they go, most likely to be ignored or forgotten about until the next escalation. The kids fight and scream at one another and I borrow against my overdrawn reserve of patience and maturity and tell myself I'm trying my best, we're doing our best, but I feel broken and beat down and I don't know how we got here at all, though I suspect it is somehow my fault, because it is always my fault.

Yet, I am so used to this that it does not feel unstable. It is one of the most consistent parts of my life, believe it or not. The weather flips from warm and crisp autumn to the faded gray of pre-winter, the leaves barely clinging to the trees or rotting in the gutters, and I sink.

I don't have the indulgence of my earlier days to wallow in myself without being missed, only to resurface shortly thereafter and slowly reintegrate into my own life. No, now I cantstopwontstopgogogo because if I don't, it all falls apart. I will be lucky to be able to nap these upcoming days, to barely recharge enough for the evening's requirements before laying sleepless in bed, my thoughts cycling over and over, layering upon one another and melding to form gnawing anxious chasms in my stomach that won't fade until Spring. I have obligations and duties and to negate those would be the worst kind of self-sabotage, so I keep marching on because there is no other choice to be had.

I feel like the monsters we've been barely dodging these last few years are finally catching up to us because our good luck couldn't last forever. I am suffocating in all of the negatives of responsibility without any of the positives and how did it get this way, I don't understand. I swear I only stopped paying attention for a moment, how did it become such a mess?

I am full of words while constantly running out of them. No one wants to hear about my worries and fears and to listen to my anxious ramblings about money and bills and our neighbors and the panic I feel every time the kids have a growth spurt because I am running out of asses to magically pull funding from but beyond that, I don't really know what to say anymore.

I don't know what to say anymore.

I don't know why you're here or why you care or why I put so much effort and bend myself all out of shape over this thing that does nothing to benefit my family or get us to a better place. I don't know how to make it better or make it something I can be proud of to show that all of the effort I do put forth into this vacuous corner of the internet has worth and value beyond me stating that it does because I say so.

I fear that I am not cut out for being a "successful" blogger because I lack confidence in myself because I know, I know, that I will never be stable, dependable, accountable.

I will always fall down the holes. And it will always be so monumentally hard to climb back to the surface.