Nervous Breakdown

Ugh, what a day.

The morning started out terrifically. I went to bed early, and Hubby let me sleep in. I woke refreshed and rested. Then he volunteered to make breakfast -- biscuits, gravy, sausage and eggs, and it was terrific.

Things started going downhill from there, although I didn't realize it at the time. First, I was left with this huge breakfast mess to clean up, while he disappeared. The kids were constantly fighting, and constantly underfoot. Each of them needing attention of some sort, but when I referred them to Daddy, they were ignored. Until the point I pounded on the door and demanded he do something. Yeah, pretty bitchy, and not fun.

Hubby suggested us having some friends over this weekend, because he missed them. I realized I missed them too, and thought it was a terrific idea. But I had a specific list of things that had to be done before they came over, and I needed his help with them. The house was a mess, and there was a lot of cleaning to be done beforehand!

I get started, then go in to ask Hubby for help. Though he'd already agreed to assist, I find out he's arranged to run a long-distance errand with a friend. I reminded him of our agreement and was basically given a pat on the head and a "I'm sure you can manage it."

A few minutes later, I ask my daughter to clean her room. I could give you the long version, but for the sake of brevity, it took two hours of near-constant supervision to get her to clean up a mess that would have taken me 15 minutes. She had just a few things left to pick up, but opted to take a nap instead.

I had accomplished maybe a quarter of what I wanted, when I realized I was hungry, and so was my son. I fixed him something to eat, and got him a glass of chocolate milk. Which he spilled, approximately .2 seconds after I set it down.

Well, the stress that had been building finally overwhelmed me. I immediately lost my appetite, burst into tears, and slid down the refrigerator. My son walks over to me, and says, "Are you crying Mommy?"

I said, "Yes." He asked why, and I replied, "Too many messes."

He said, "Don't cry, Mommy." I thought this was very sweet, but then he finished his sentence. "Don't cry, Mommy. You need to fix me something to drink."

It was very amusing later, but at the time, felt like one of the cruelest, most heartless things anyone has said to me in a long time!

I retreated to my room and locked the door. The kids have been tyrants for the past several weeks. Hubby has oh-so-helpfully pointed out ways to improve the situation, but doesn't realize that by the time you have your fifth or sixth battle of the day, you are tired of fighting. I feel abandoned, alone, and like the person who is supposed to care the most has basically told me to "suck it up and deal."

I just lay on the bed and sob. Seems like hours. Might have been 30 minutes. Either way, it's the longest I've cried in I don't remember when. I finally feel calm enough to face the world.

I go back into the kitchen, to find my son has attempted to pour himself a glass of Kool-Aid in my absence. I say "attempt", because only some of it has made it's way into the cup. Most of it is on the floor.

I burst into a fresh round of tears, clean up that mess, pop in a movie for my son to keep him preoccupied and perhaps prevent further messes, and lock myself in my room for another good 30 minutes or so. Maybe longer. I have no idea.

I just cried and cried, until I couldn't anymore. Then I felt blank. Not just wrung out, tired or fatigued. But blank. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor in a stupor, not even sure if I had swept everything up or if I even cared.

I considered if I had a nervous breakdown. Lord, it's possible. The cabin fever has been building for months, and the kid stress for several weeks. I feel like I've been bullied, and no one has really cared or I've been given constructive criticism when what I need is a damn helping hand.

I'm supposed to work tomorrow, and I wonder if I will wake up feeling better. I hope so. I'm not sure if I can fake normal for a 10 hour shift tomorrow. Will someone notice that I'm not "at myself?"

It depresses me, because I realize I'm too relied upon. I can't just fall apart. I don't have that luxury. While a visit to the crazy house might seem like a luxurious vacation right now, my poor husband would have to arrange for child care and a maid, and the world may fall apart while I'm gone. I'd return home to even worse conditions than what I'd left and the kids would be confused and scratching their heads, thinking they must have done something wrong to make mommy go away.

Yeah. That's my day, and it's put me through the wringer. Thank God it's almost over.