Sometimes I just lose it

I was trying to explain to my boss how my weekend was and I couldn’t remember. Not because it was a long way away, but because last night I feel like I lost my mind and for some reason it erased the whole weekend.

What actually happened was this: Friday I took the day off work to get some personal housekeeping done–I am tired and worn out with everything going on lately and wanted to take a personal day. So I did. I went to yoga and acupuncture and even though I responded to work emails, I didn’t go into the office.

Saturday, my husband and I drove two hours out of town to meet a guy about a truck. My husband’s truck was stolen from in front of our house a month ago (coincidentally a couple of days after we found out our IVF had failed) and so we were meeting a guy who had one for sale. We’d sent a deposit, and met him at his summer house. He had kindly loaded the truck on a trailer for us so all we had to do was give him the cheque and hand it over. Unfortunately, the truck was in worse shape than we thought, and so we were a bit hesitant to take it. When my husband told him so, the owner got really angry, and threatened to take the truck, and our deposit back home with him. There was a super tense half hour or so during which my husband was fuming and the truck’s owner was angry… it was all very silly, really, if there weren’t so much money at stake.

Eventually, I managed to talk the truck’s owner off his angry pile and he agreed to give us a discount on the truck and we took it off his hands. It was a super tense few moments, and my husband was really irritated as he felt like he’d been blackmailed into buying the truck. Which was kind of true–we really didn’t have much of a choice, and we aren’t the type of people who can afford to walk away from $1,000.

It was a pretty shitty situation all-round, and left a bad taste in our mouths for the rest of the day. We’re still trying to figure out if we should keep this new (to us) truck or not. ugh.

Sunday, my mother called in the morning in terrible pain–she had pulled her back the previous day and was now in so much pain she couldn’t move without fainting. She lives alone in a different city than we do, so this was not great news. Eventually, she had to call 911 and EMS took her to the hospital. I felt awful not being able to be there for her–even just to take her a book or something at the hospital. They ended up keeping her for a night and I was texting and calling throughout the day to keep apprised of the situation. Now, she’s at home and (I hope…) still mobile.

It was super scary, and impacted me more than I thought it would.

So then we get to last night, Monday–the last day of the first long weekend of the summer (though really the summer is SO not here yet–it was snow/rainy all weekend and the sun barely made an appearance). My husband had to work, so I had the day to try and catch up on errands. I needed some things from the outdoor store (waterproof pants for paddling, etc.) so I spent some time there before heading out to practice.

And there was the weekend. Until around 10pm last night–I was feeling SUPER anxious for some reason (I get anxiety-prone sometimes) about how I was going to survive the next two months before my next IVF, worried about this dumb test I have to have next week for this fibroid, and generally just feeling awful and exhausted. My husband said something that made me annoyed and I completely overreacted. While he may have been irritating, and I may have been justified in my emotions, I just completely lost the plot. I yelled and threw a box full of nail polishes (including my new non-toxic ones) on the floor. Why? I have no idea. I was so annoyed at him, at me, at the world. Here we are, both of us with good jobs and good intentions and for some reason my self-loathing tears me to shreds and I act like a two-year-old.

I smashed one of the nail polish bottles (unfortunately NOT the non-toxic ones, so now my house reeks of all the things I’ve been diligently trying to rid it of) and spent the better part of the next hour trying to clean it off the floor and the carpet. I was only minorly successful, and I’m now really annoyed, terribly sheepish, and look like a total psychopath.

I managed to get it together enough to get myself into bed and apologise to my husband (who was non too pleased with my terrible behaviour), and had a restless, nightmare-filled sleep. UGH. I’m embarrassed and angry and feel guilty for being such an idiot on top of everything else.

So when my boss asked about my weekend, when we met at 7:30 this morning, I couldn’t tell her. I still felt the hangover of whatever demons my subconscious is torturing me with.

Apparently my self-love and acceptance work is not done. I feel like I haven’t even scratched the surface.

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