Saturday, 14 July 2012

Dear Alex, and it strikes again...

Little Mitzi-first day at school, first ever uniform...

July 14th 2012

Dear Alex,

And again it strikes. Fists clench, teeth clench, tears cannot flow. I have to gulp it all back, force it in, slam that iron lid back on the emotions I need to expend to cope with what has just happened.

This morning I feel like we’re going places, all week I have felt the same, we march on, and I feel like we’ve had it easy (well, relatively) and this is the other side. I have spent a week in relief, safety, praising the Most High. Now again, it strikes.

Even Monty this morning makes the comment he’s excited to be going to see you. It feels too good to be true…it is.

You are frustrated, so hungry you’re driven to biting hard my arm; crying and I have to deal with it in front of four kids looking on. You left teeth marks.

Yes I know it’s not the real you, but the consolation of that? It’s worthless, because where is the real you then? You bit me hard. I suck in the pain and get you a yoghurt, four kids with cabin fever wanting drinks, treats, attention, me.

Then the most part is spent with you in tears, angry. I have to call it a day, it’s too much for everyone. I cannot cope; the kids don’t understand and demand more of me. You need me to help you, I can’t do it all. I feel like screaming ‘I CAN”T DO THIS!!!!’ oh for a minute of a different life, a happy family life…why not us? Why can’t we be a ‘happy family’?

You get so worked up you shout, and you lash out, head butting me and grabbing me hard. Panic attack arises in me, but I HAVE to deal with this, with four kids, on my own…

And today, I feel the anger as a result. Why us? Why? Where are you God? Can’t you help?

Awakening my heart to beat again this week, I felt the security of letting go, thinking ‘it’s all alright now, on the up’ and then the visit I have been telling the kids to be excited for as they’d see such a difference in you, turns into this.

It was a stifling experience, and after it all, I just have no choice, I have to walk out, being OK for the kids, feeling the pressure. Feeling like I should be there with you, for you. And I take them to a party, I can’t look the other parents’ in the eye, I’m so choked up.

Why do I have to keep on ‘just being alright?’ keep on slamming the lid shut on how I am? Where do I actually come in on all of this, when do I have space?

A monster of anger has got a grip of my throat; I make it through the party, switching off in their conversations, trying to appear as though I am ok, that I am with it. But I am desperate.

Then getting in, with tired muddy kids, who have picked up on how I have been, who have seen daddy being the way you have been. There’s nowhere to park where I live, I feel like ramming cars out of the way, smashing my way through the front door. I reach the sofa, having got the kids into the bath, I need to scream, to let it out, I have my fists so tightly clenched I can hardly breathe. I pray to God to give me the strength to get through bedtime. It's tiring being alone at these points...

No, tonight, today, none of this is OK, none of it is alright. I am angry I have to do all this, how can I possibly? How is it actually possible for one human of little strength to keep battling like this?

My feet drag, my legs pull, my weight, exhaustion swamp me. Entangle me…

Lola spills my cup of tea all down the back of the computer-I stay calm, there’s cat vomit on her freshly washed, put back on this morning, bed sheets, I quietly pull them off and shove them in the machine again. Naming blessings, but not really feeling it. Someone’s put a party popper in the tumble drier, it explodes. I smell burning plastic, forgetting I’d left dinner in the oven to cool along with plastic plate and plastic spatula, it’s all melted, I lift the frying pan out, my only frying pan, the handle cracks and dinner falls all over…well, at least the dog has his dinner prepared, on the floor.

Thank you I can make another cup of tea. Thank you I have the ability to get bed sheets off, and a washing machine to re-wash them. Thank you for the abandoned cat Monty found. Thank you for rice cakes and butter and hunks of cucumber for the kids’ quick tea.

But I don’t really feel any of it.

Then the kids want a puppet show before bed. They love this. It’s become a way of safely talking about you, how they feel, of play, of banter, of fun and hysterics. Of me spending time with them, curled up on their beds.

I do it. We laugh; I push the panic to one side.

My frown is deep, my hands tremble, and I write all this. I feel calmer, but tonight I feel like I can’t go on much longer.

And how can this be after just this morning feeling the calmest I ever have felt, the hope, the beauty of our son’s words at looking forward to seeing you, after the heartache he’s been and is (as they all are) going through.

How can a cavern so deep have been opened up and sucked me in so hard that I am lost, deeply covered, feeling unable to scramble out…

This is so volatile this path. I need strength, but I cannot get it from me…

Maybe tomorrow will be different…And the party popper in the tumble drier actually did make me laugh...

Me xxxxxxxx

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