IRL. II

I want to follow up. I feel like publicly sharing my problems won’t sit well with many people but it’s sometimes the only way that helps me.
I really want to be able to talk about the way I feel sometimes but I’m not a chatterer, I’ve always been better at putting pen to paper, so to speak, and I know myself well enough to know that whenever I talk about my feelings, I cry. To the point where I can’t talk anymore anyway.

It’s been less than a day since I wrote the last post, but I struggled to sleep properly last night for fear that I’d wake up to messages telling me I’m ‘being silly’, ‘it’s all in your head’ and ‘you just need to forget about all that and cheer up’, you know, the usual stiff upper lip treatment. The worry of being on the receiving end of pity disturbs me too; people’s perceptions of you alter as if they’re just waiting for you to break down (which adds to the building pressure you put on yourself as you anticipate your next dark moment) or they want to help you but don’t know how and don’t dare ask to bring it up.

The topping of this delightful trifle is made up of a nice concoction of guilt and worry. As I said in the last post, I feel like all of the world’s problems sit on my shoulders. I worry about my family and my friends so badly. Being empathetic by nature means I don’t just feel sympathy when other people suffer, I am genuinely upset for them, I feel guilt because I can’t take their problems away and I have sleepless nights worrying about them.

Raising Monkey on a daily basis while the Husband is working worries me in all kinds of weird and wonderful ways. On the easier days I worry because I’m not that worried and on the bad, I worry that he’ll not develop in the way he’s supposed to because I’ve hindered it by keeping him at home with me. I worry that people think I have too close a relationship with him as I would prefer to spend all of my time with him. I never need a break from him (contrary to popular belief) as I really enjoy his company. Looking after him doesn’t wear me out.
Its evident from when we do spend time with other kids that I’ve not ruined his social skills by spending days indoors as he’s a friendly, funny, bright child who doesn’t retreat into his shell and grip onto me when we’re around people, which I am aware some people assume is the case.
I worry that he’s not eating/sleeping/talking/walking/drinking enough yet he never cries from hunger or thirst, I spend all day encouraging his speech, I make sure he has at least an hours’ nap every day (or he goes to bed early when he refuses) and I never stop him from walking (if he’s happy in the pram, he stays there, if not I get him out as long as it’s safe). This is why I don’t think the doctor was right when she told me I have the “baby blues” when I went, and it’s why I’ve never contacted the Health Visitor like she told me to. I think I have a mental health problem, not a Mum-related one because my child is the only thing that is keeping me sane on my bad days.
The worries go much deeper and darker sometimes but ultimately I know I am a good Mum to Monkey and this thing going on in my head right now can only make me a better one.

There’s a never ending train of thought whooshing through my head and all I ask is for you to forgive me when it might seem I’m being rude if I’m being blunt or cancelling plans or not talking for a while. I’m sorry my mind has taken this turn, I wish I could go back 6 months and not feel like this but I do. This is it.

This is me in real life.

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