I'm participating in the Blogging from A-Z Challenge again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letters E, F & G.
I fell behind on the challenge, so I'm catching up/cheating by using 3 letters at once. Deal with it.
Honestly, I've been feeling some good ole' depression creep in the last week and it has become overwhelming just to float through the days on autopilot, let alone put extra effort into anything. Also, when I write in the midst of one of my lovely down-swings, it comes off whiny and ridiculous. So it's better for me to isolate.
I can't say I'm out of my funk, but I felt the urge to write. So rather than giving up on the challenge after a lapse, I decided to try to work my current feelings into a post. This is where the "E" part comes in: Emotions. This pregnancy has been interesting because it has made me emotionally fragile and weepy. Things that would normally roll off my back are bothering me more than I care to admit. Not to mention the random, no-reason-whatsoever sadness that derails me every now and then.
The problem isn't that I have emotions, mind you. It's the way those emotions are received by the people closest to me. From my perspective, my husband and kids expect me to be this high-functioning, low-feeling automaton. Their needs should be met with minimal effort on their part. It reminds me of being a kid all over again. Growing up, it was understood that I was meant to take up as little space as possible. I should do what was requested of me without complaint and without needing anything in return. Not seen, not heard. When I did let my feelings spill out or failed to live up to expectations, I was a burden, ungrateful, a brat, a bitch, too opinionated, and asking too much. I learned to supress, to hide, to bury what I could and cope on my own. I tried to be a body with no soul because my spirit was messy and unwanted. I had no value beyond what I could do for everyone else. I definitely feel that way right now and I can't tell if it's really how it is, or if it's my hormones playing tricks on me.
Aside from the terrible ache of reliving my past, this has led to immense frustration. I don't understand why I am expected to function at a certain capacity and not ask for a thing in return. Why is it that my emotions are barely tolerated instead of simply allowed to be felt?! Why is it such a problem for me to just cry or be angry for a minute so that I can process something and move on?! Why can't these feelings just be met with support or love, hell, a TEENSY bit of compassion?! Maybe if that were the case, they would pass more quickly or come less often. I wouldn't know because no one has ever given me that "luxury".
To make matters more complicated, there's the fact that I'm a walking, breathing, human incubator. Only people who have been pregnant can truly empathize with a pregnant woman. Only they get the tiredness, the inability to do certain tasks without a break in between, or the way you feel like a fat fucking slug sometimes and just need someone to remind you how magical you really are, without you having to meltdown first. But since the only people who know this are people who have been through it themselves, it's a need that sits and festers. It's a hunger that never gets fed. Which only perpetuates the messy emotions and the frustration.
And this is where I'm at right now. This is why I am trying to fit three entries into one. This is why I'm not captain participation in anyone else's life. This is why I can muster only minimal effort in pretty much everything and would rather curl up in a ball, pull the covers over my head, and just not deal with anything at all. But that isn't how life works. I have a family that needs me, even when there are days they treat me like dirt, or at least show zero appreciation or concern. I have a baby inside me that deserves a calm host in which to grow. I have friends who have victories that are worthy of celebration. The world doesn't stop turning. So I'll spill my guts here and in a few days I'll feel better and regret sharing any of this. That's just how it works.