It was one of those mornings. You moms know what I mean. Arguments every second of it. Practically dressing the child to get him out the door. Running back inside for something. Arguing on the way to school.
It shouldn't have been.
He did "study" as in read the words on the page, but I doubt strongly he was prepared to read it in class from memory (which he was supposed to).
I warned him again that TV (which wasn't even supposed to be on until he was dressed and had fully studied) had to be off at 7:20am. At that point, all that should've been left would've been to brush his teeth. In reality, there were shoes to get on, a belt to find, and the teeth to be brushed.
I said I wanted to be out the door by 7:25am at the latest. Of course it was after 7:30am when we finally got out.
I did harp, I'll admit. Dylan's response was, "Well, you know I'm not the fastest boy on the planet!" which launched a
When he finally got out of the car, I lost it. Alone, by myself, but I lost it. Screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
When I was in college, "the primal scream" was very popular. They even had primal scream events when everyone went to the green and screamed to release stress. I thought it was supposed to help, but it just made my throat sore, and may have primed me for more screaming later.
That additional screaming occurred hours later when I realized I had forgotten to give Dylan his meds. I really lost it that time. Totally broke down. Cried, screamed, yelled, you name it. For at least 30-45 minutes. Fortunately, I had a surprise reprieve from work and could do so.
The stress - so much stress - has obviously been building up. Dylan's ADHD. Lots of negative stress at work. A less-than-stellar relationship with RockStar. Worries over money, nutrition, weight, my mom, cub scouts, our dog, our roof, you name it.
Now, I'm not a worrier by trademark. But a lot has been going on. Too much and I cannot get a handle on any of it. Or rather I try to get a handle on all of it, and everything suffers.
I don't know what happens next. I read Tsh's blog letter to her 15-year-old self and I know I am feeling just what she describes toward the end when she more-or-less breaks down in Greece. My only question is: when do I get the plane ticket to Santorini?!
Seriously, something has to give, but I honestly have no idea what it will be. I'm, gulp, talking to my pastor tomorrow (something I've never done - talk to clergy about a problem and get pastoral care). And I made an appointment to talk to a social worker next week. And I'm "talking" here. I feel like burrowing under my covers for...forever. But I know that is not an option. I'm just so tired of being responsible for what feel like everything.
If you've read this far, thank you for listing to my rant. When I was screaming and crying I kept yelling, "I have no one to talk to." It was like all this stuff was coming out. Stuff that apparently has been bothering me, under the surface, but has been hidden by all the stuff I do.
No one primal screams anymore. When I looked it up, I had to hunt for it amid bands with that name. Considering how it turned out, I don't recommend it. When you feel like screaming, please, just stop and get a latté or something. Don't unleash the furies like I did.