Sleepless in Sacramento
Okay, so technically I'm in Carmichael but Sacramento sounded better. It's 11:35pm and I'm wide awake waiting for my evening meds to kick in - low doses of a couple prescriptions I won't mention. I'll luck out and my system will concede to the drugs and I'll fall asleep; OR, I'll turn into a zombie and vegg on the couch for another hour or two until my body finally crashes and I sleep. Either way, here I am.
My former therapist, whom I love dearly, told me once, "You might want to make friends with the night." I'm hardwired to be on high alert as soon as everyone is in bed. Bedtime can be awful for me. The higher my stress level, the worse it gets. Even walking into the bedroom feels like a threat when I'm in crisis. I sleep on the couch more than I'd like to admit.
Crisis. It's been one after another for so long. I'll be 42 in about six weeks and it seems for the past ten years, as soon as I think my feet are finally getting some ground, the rug gets pulled out of from under me and I faceplant. The past six years have been such a battle... The past year has had me twisted in the type of emotional pain and despair one can't imagine until they have arrived.
I'm staring down so much fear and uncertainty about my life - the future of my marriage and stability for my children. The steps. We're taking the steps and trying to do all the right things. This isn't as formulaic as I'd love it to be, though. The child of addicts married an addict that has detonated several bombs in our life. I don't have to stay. I could take the kids and walk tomorrow. That's not the way, though. Not for me. Not for him either, it seems.
He's saying (mostly) all the right things. He's going to meetings. The girls don't know it gets, but he's headed to rehab in less than 4 weeks for 21-28 days of intensive treatment. Then what? We work and watch and wait.
One thing is for sure: I need more to my life the momming as a struggling, grieving, betrayed and broken woman. My days are spent running from appointment to appointment; trying to parent from a place of love while steeping in a place of exhaustion; and, fighting to balance my pain, anger and disgust with love and even empathy.
I do the work. It's all I do. And, I need more. There is so much more to me than a broken marriage and dead parents. Grief and heartbreak and betrayal have become the stars of the show. I deserve better and so do my kids.
One step at a time, one day at a time. Gently forward.