Rainclouds

Here I am, hoping for rain and clouds, anything to cool off the temperature. Meanwhile, I have my own, personal storm brewing over me. It is that time of the month. I used to be free of most PMS symptoms. Now I get crampy and moody and spot for a week before my actual period. Being in that state only makes me less able to handle some of the lower lows of my life.

Despite our lack of air conditioning, I've been in good spirits. All the work I've been doing around the house and yard makes me feel better about myself as does following my exercise schedule. During these times, I tend to let little annoyances roll off my back, and all is well. But it always seems like one day gets chock full of unhappy events, and I go crashing off a cliff. I take it hard. I feel hopeless and wallow in self-pity. I feel that coming now.

Any one thing, I could have handled. Though I'm tired of all the setbacks with the air conditioning, I could have handled one more. Not being able to get a hold of the landlord is irritating but the world is not at my beck and call. Being tight on money, even on payday, is something to which I'm accustomed, because we're digging ourselves out of debt. Explaining to John that topsoil is only $1 a bag is understandable when he handles the budget. Hammy sulking and muttering under his breath because I don't want to bring his friend shipping with us is just part of being a mother of a preteen boy. None of those things are the end of the world, but I'm feeling weighted from them all.

Instead of dealing with each of these things individually and letting them be what they are, I'm letting them get to me. I'm fed up with being hot. I'm sick of never, ever getting the landlord ont he phone. I hate watching every single penny I spend and having such an immense income with nothing to show for it. I resent having to account for my spending, expecially when it's for little things or necessary items. And I'm tired of being painted the mean mom because I don't say yes all the time. I just want to go to the store with my own family. Why is that so awful?

I'm not being rational or productive about anything, so every little thing is getting to me now. All the work I haven't done is needling me, despite how much more I have done. My unfinished projects are nagging as I tackle new flower beds and try to make the house look better. Every thought and action get tinged with despair as I let every little negative snowball. I can't do anything right. Nothing works. I'm a failure. I'm a failure. I'm a failure.

It's that undercurrent that taints my life. I constantly fight that chorus in my head that I am a failure. I can get by if only one little thing tries to remind me of it, but when several join in, building the volume; covering my ears doesn't work anymore. All I hear from that inner voice is how futile my efforts are. Why do you bother trying? You always mess everything up. It doesn't matter what you do. You had your chance, and you screwed it up.

I believe that deep down. I had my chance. I was smart and talented. I had a bright future. I even overcame a big problem, but instead of learning from it and changing directions, I made the same mistake again. I've been one mistake after the other ever since. And sometimes, when I'm at my lowest, I believe I was born a mistake too--doomed from the start.

I see other people overcoming such adversity, and I feel completely pathetic. I don't overcome anything. I creat problems for myself, and I can't overcome them either. I'm just a sad, wasted life.

But I'm tired of it.

It's time for a change. I can sulk and whine and stew in my own funk like I always do, or I can continue doing positive things. I'm on the right track already. I'm doing my job at home. I'm working on my marriage. I'm moving toward a goal of adventure racing. I'm raising respectful, well-behaved children. I'm improving myself. I'm doing lots of good, so why be silly and let all these things over which I have no control affect me. Those events don't measure my worth. Using such things as a yardstick of who I am just sets me up for failure, which explains my whole life thus far. It's not wonder I feel like a loser.

I suppose I better stop writing about all this and actually do something. I can't change things by writing about it forever. If that were the case, I'd have pulled out of this depressive cycle long ago. So off I go to be a responible, successful adult.