Anxiety, fuck you very much.

Feelings. Big feelings. Let’s see how vague I can be.

I can fire you. That’s easy. You… you are not worth the stress. Thank. Fucking. God. I can fire you.

I can’t fire you. I wouldn’t if I could. I don’t know what I would do to you.

I don’t want to go.

I want to go so bad I can taste it.

I’m really sad about logistics.

I’m so happy that everything is falling into place.

My stomach hurts. My head hurts. My arms hurt. My shoulders hurt. My back hurts. My hips hurt. My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. My jaw hurts. My hands hurt. My heart hurts.

When I think of you, I cry. Because this pain is never ever going to stop.

I am not being a very good wife lately. I am not hitting quota. I don’t feel whole, safe, sexy, or fun. I feel damaged, scared, weak, and pathetic.

Don’t get upset. Or you will be punished.

I don’t want to be touched and I don’t want to be alone. I want to stop shaking.

I want my belly to stop hurting. It hurts and hurts and hurts. I don’t think I will puke tonight. It’s a shame. That would end the pain.

9.5 weeks. Then I will run away.

Run away. Run away. Don’t be here. Be gone. Go away.

I want to say that no one wants me anyway. But that’s a lie. Noah wants me. Sarah wants me. Jenny wants me. Kira wants me. Pam wants me. The kids are coming with me.

I just came up with five people without even trying. Stop bitching that no one wants you, whiner.

My children tell me, “I’m allowed to whine. I learned it from you.” I glare and don’t argue.

We are all punchy and difficult. It’s… a week. I should go re-read the 7 year old book. 4 1/2 is not as rough as it was with Shanna. I remember a lot of time spent with my jaw locked. I remember really struggling. We are at disequilibrium… but it’s not that bad.

Hey self–house remodel is in flux, Noah’s job is in flux, social stuff is in flux, trip stuff is changing and scary and soon. Maybe don’t be so mad about having feelings? Big feelings. Mixed feelings.

It’s ok. It will all be ok in the end.

Plug along.

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