Of course it was day 5 when the anxiety and waterworks hit. I figured I wouldn’t be able to keep the fragile me under wraps for too long, but I do wish that I could have made it longer than 5 days.
Our corporate department heads were in town this week at my job, and we were taken to lunch today. Everyone insists on riding together, and I had to cram myself into a tiny backseat with two other women. I am, by far, the largest of the three. There was one medium size, and one very small. I was smashed against the door, and my head hit the side roof. I tensed in the ride, and all of the muscles in my neck and shoulders seized up on me.
The ride to the restaurant and then back to work again was very uncomfortable, and I was almost in tears when we got back. There was one time before when I took my own vehicle instead of riding with the others, and everyone seemed so shocked why I would go alone.
From now on, I will have to be adamant that I will have to take my own vehicle. I can’t put myself into extremely uncomfortable situations anymore just for the sake of going along with the crowd. I have to make my needs known. I can’t be afraid to speak up.
I have plans tomorrow to spend the day with friends and film some cooking segments. The plan was for me to have the house and our kitchen available for filming, and my husband would take our kid to the museum downtown.
His job has called for a mandatory Saturday, so now I have to prepare the house for filming and film while my 3 year old is underfoot. To make matters worse, they are also offering work on Sunday, and my husband signed up for 8 hours.
All I can see for my weekend is dealing with a clingy toddler, who I can’t tag team with my husband, because he will be working 16 hours over Saturday and Sunday. I won’t even get a break the weekend after this one, because I am taking the kiddo out of town to visit friends for Easter, and I will have her again next weekend completely on my own.
Once I picked up the kiddo and got home, we prepared supper together and were already eating when my husband arrived home from work. After dinner, I went to spend some quality time with myself in the bathroom. I don’t feel bad about admitting this, because I was actually sitting in there taking care of legitimate toilet business.
The kiddo burst into the room, and basically just stood there staring at me and laughing. Her dad was behind her basically just standing there and laughing. He didn’t move to correct her and shut the door quickly, which is what I would have done had I been out there with her and she busted up in the bathroom on someone.
I yelled to please go away and shut the door and they both still stood there laughing. I can’t blame the 3 year old, but my anger toward my husband flared. I had to wait until things literally stopped exiting from my body before I angrily stood up. I slammed the bathroom door and yelled something toward my husband about not stopping her from coming in.
Our kid is potty training now, and there are times when she and I go to the restroom together. But that is only when the situation absolutely calls for it. I don’t want her to think that she can just barge into a bathroom, even if it is only me in there. I am a human that has a right to my privacy, and it seems I get so little of that these days.
My husband took the kid upstairs, and I sat in the bathroom for 10 more minutes, crying like a baby. I felt guilty for getting angry, but I also was still very angry that no one seemed to care about my feelings. I spend every waking moment caring about the feelings of others: my husband, my kid, my coworkers, the customers I deal with, my friends.
I feel like I give so much, yet rarely it comes back to me. But there I was, sitting in the bathroom, STILL TRYING TO POOP, and crying my eyes out because I made my husband angry with my reaction. I sat in there, wiping falling tears and vowing I should feel no shame in being angry, but the guilt was caught heavy in my throat.
I exited the bathroom and left the house to go grocery shopping. I cried all the way there in the car. I sat in the car for 10 minutes crying before I went into the grocery store. Then, I fielded stares from the other shoppers and the cashier, because I know my red and blotchy ugly cry face was on full display.
I had to go to two stores to get all the items I need for tomorrow’s cooking segments, and when I returned home, the kiddo was still awake. She is over there with her dad, playing some games on her tablet before bed.
I have nothing to do but sit here and write what I am feeling. I am still so angry, and hurt, and confused as to why I don’t get back in return what I give to the world. My brain is telling me I don’t get it back because I am an awful person and awful people don’t deserve nice things to happen to them.
And my sick, evil, and twisted brain secretly thinks my husband takes all the overtime he can to stay away from my toxicity. I just can’t pull myself up from the funk tonight.
But I wrote, and that is better than I can say for my last anxiety laden day. I can only take baby steps toward figuring life out. I don’t know how to take big steps yet…