I’ve been avoiding writing in my journal like the plague. Why? Because if there is something I have to do that I feel most people don’t have to do, I act like a baby and suffer instead of just doing the damn thing that I know helps me. I just don’t know why I sabotage myself. I’ve always done this. I feel like my happiness or anything good isn’t going to last, so why try? I have the most wonderful husband in the world, but I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. My Dad decided he didn’t want his family or his wife anymore and even though my husband is nothing like my Dad, my mind still tells me that he’s going to do the same thing.
I’ve been making like an ostrich again. If I have a problem, ignore it until it goes away. Well problems just don’t work that way. And not writing in my journal has just made my anxiety that much worse. I’m breaking out, I’ve chewed my lips till they bleed and my thumbs are a wreck from me picking them. I have a meeting with a psychiatrist tomorrow for a psychological evaluation and I am freaking out. The lady that made the appointment assured me that he is very nice but I am still freaking out. A million what if’s are running through my head, which is so stupid when I really have no idea what is going to happen.
I had the kids conferences today which took every bit of energy I didn’t have.
Just because I need to do something to be whole, doesn’t make me a failure, right? But that is what my mind tells me. I know I need to do yoga and write in my journal and eat better. But knowing that I need to do it, makes me want to prove to myself that I don’t need to do it. I can remember as a kid being jealous of my Mom and the other girls who could eat a piece of toast for breakfast and be good until lunch. That was one of my goals. How messed up is that? I just wanted a normal metabolism where I could eat and feel full for more than one hour and eat as much as everyone else did at a sitting instead of having to eat a bunch of smaller meals. Not one adult understood my eating habits and I was punished more times than I can count for not finishing my dinner and being hungry later. Luckily, my hubby understands and only comments on my sweet tooth.
I am a hot mess.