Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness
9:35 p.m. - 2003-02-12
Wednesday night...thank Goddess the week is half over.
Almost every carpeted room in our house has been deep cleaned. It looks SOO much better...but the house is a disaster because we've been moving stuff around. I'll be so glad when everything gets put back where it's supposed to be. I just don't function well with clutter.
This has been a rather hellacious week. I've been in a particularly foul mood, but I can't put a finger on what is wrong. Yesterday was seriously terrible. I yelled for thirty minutes straight at my fiancee. I was unstoppable...I haven't been like that in a long time, and even though I realize that I'm being completely irrational and utterly hateful, I can't quit. Sometimes I scare myself. I know that I need medication--the free Paxil has run out, and that's what is going on. I KNOW this, but I don't know what the hell to do about it. I guess I need to make an appointment with a psychiatrist. Only problem is...I'm fucking broke, and I can't afford to go. But something has to be done. I hate being this crazy person. It's physically (not seriously--not like cutting or harming myself--but I know that it takes a toll on my body)and emotionally damaging to me, and it causes immense strain on my relationships. I don't know how the people in my life put up with me when I act like that...if I was in their position I'd tell myself to fuck off.
Argh. Enough about that. Today has been better. I haven't been bitching, even though the house is a mess and school is stressing me out. I'm frazzled. My kids are totally nuts. They go through phases where they just won't listen, and it wears me out. They yell at me. They cuss me under their breath--or out loud. They cry, they kick, they hit, they scream. Or they just cry and won't talk to me about what's wrong. Sometimes they get up and run out of the room. They don't do their work. They're performing WAY below third grade level, and the IOWA test is coming up soon. There are lots of times when I just don't know what to do with them. I hate sending them to the office. I hate writing letters to their parents, because some of them live in abusive homes, and they are beaten. And I can't do anything about it, because I can't prove it. I'm not a counselor. I hate having to send them to detention, because they don't learn there. But sometimes those are the only options, and that depresses me immensely. Fuck.
I had bright and happy things to talk about...I found pictures tonight of my trip to Europe...I traveled to Amsterdam, London, and Paris in college, and I wanted to remember it here. But I'm tired, so I'll go. Tomorrow comes early. Wish me luck.
Love and light,
A.