Ick is Back
Really, there's no reason for it. And it drives me crazy. The ick is back.
Last week I felt great. For the last two days, however, I've been feeling down, and I can't stand the sound of the whining in my head. I answered the phone once yesterday and I hated what was coming out of my mouth, so I vowed not to open it up again until the ick is gone.
I feel like things are relatively under control, though I may be a little tired. I'm not overwhelmed, I'm eating well, I'm exercising, I'm praying, I'm getting to bed on time, yada, yada, yada, and yet once or twice a month I find myself digging in the back of the medicine cabinet for that bottle of Prozac left over from after the baby was born. (which is pointless, really, since it takes a few days to work...)
I'm not anxious, I just woke up yesterday feeling defeated, and I hadn't even gotten out of bed. I'm crying at the drop of a hat, and I just so hate when I do that. Yesterday I stumbled upon a few old letters that my dad had written to my Aunt Judy in the back of some filing cabinets I was cleaning out. I knew I wasn't in the frame of mind to read them, yet I opened them anyway. (not too bright) I got two paragraphs into them and I was a puddle, so I put them away.
Today, the 4-year-old decided she didn't want to go to camp (which she LOVED on Monday). She was clinging onto both of my legs, tears coming down her cheeks... the works. I finally got permission to just leave, and I was a wreck. I knew she'd be fine as soon as I left (she was), but I was the one sniffling all the way home, feeling stupid for losing it.
And this is how the ick goes.
I physcially feel the need to just shake it out of my head. I have perspective, but it just feels totally like it is something in my body that just needs to run its course. So I find ways to vent (like this blog), without burdening my friends with what I am well aware is not a real problem, and I just keep plugging along until it passes. It always does. Ick.
Last week I felt great. For the last two days, however, I've been feeling down, and I can't stand the sound of the whining in my head. I answered the phone once yesterday and I hated what was coming out of my mouth, so I vowed not to open it up again until the ick is gone.
I feel like things are relatively under control, though I may be a little tired. I'm not overwhelmed, I'm eating well, I'm exercising, I'm praying, I'm getting to bed on time, yada, yada, yada, and yet once or twice a month I find myself digging in the back of the medicine cabinet for that bottle of Prozac left over from after the baby was born. (which is pointless, really, since it takes a few days to work...)
I'm not anxious, I just woke up yesterday feeling defeated, and I hadn't even gotten out of bed. I'm crying at the drop of a hat, and I just so hate when I do that. Yesterday I stumbled upon a few old letters that my dad had written to my Aunt Judy in the back of some filing cabinets I was cleaning out. I knew I wasn't in the frame of mind to read them, yet I opened them anyway. (not too bright) I got two paragraphs into them and I was a puddle, so I put them away.
Today, the 4-year-old decided she didn't want to go to camp (which she LOVED on Monday). She was clinging onto both of my legs, tears coming down her cheeks... the works. I finally got permission to just leave, and I was a wreck. I knew she'd be fine as soon as I left (she was), but I was the one sniffling all the way home, feeling stupid for losing it.
And this is how the ick goes.
I physcially feel the need to just shake it out of my head. I have perspective, but it just feels totally like it is something in my body that just needs to run its course. So I find ways to vent (like this blog), without burdening my friends with what I am well aware is not a real problem, and I just keep plugging along until it passes. It always does. Ick.
