Lately I feel like I'm drowning. I don't say this to be dramatic, I say it to be real. Coco is four months old now (if you didn't pick that up from the post title), and things are easier, and yet harder, than ever. I have too much on my plate. I know I have too much on my plate, but there is nothing for me to do but work through it and try to deal. As a person who has always functioned extremely well under high-stress circumstances, I find this floundering feeling to be completely foreign and anxiety inducing. This isn't to say I haven't cracked before, because I have all the time. Cracking has become a regular part of how I function. I stress, I overwork, I put things off, I stress some more, I breakdown, freakout, cry, feel better, and repeat. I considered (well, I still usually do) myself a high-functioning mess. I could champion stress. I could make stress my motivator. Stress pushed me onwards and without it I didn't know what to do. Relaxing is a freaking joke to me. And yet despite all of this, lately I feel myself losing it, slipping into the realm of lost and terrified that if I stop paddling against the current pushing back at me, I'll go under and never come up again. I have never allowed myself anything less than (at least attempted) perfection, I have found this to be my greatest weakness and my greatest strength, but functioning is different when you are surrounded by things you can't control, like a baby, an anxious dog, and a boyfriend with depression, and lord knows I don't like being out of control. I control everything, and when I stress I get worse. Everything gets worse. My anxiety skyrockets, and my OCD, which I make jokes about and consider mild at best, turns into an actual problem. And no, I don't mean the "haha I can only write in blue or it drives me crazy" OCD, or the, "lol my house is so neat, I'm just so OCD" kind of mockery people make out of OCD, but I mean waking up at 3am and remaking the bed because the blanket isn't aligned with the sheets anymore, or not being able to eat something unless it is made, served, and eaten in a very specific and usually agonizingly time consuming manner. I feel like a dick for telling my friends that I have no time to hang out because I'm so swamped, but until they have a kid, a house to clean, a business to run, and a blog to keep up, there is no earthly way for them to understand me. Sometimes I try to force myself to do something therapeutic with my free time, like reading, but that's not even enjoyable because I am still reading this damn book that I am growing to hate and find no joy in, but I can't start something else until I finish that book because I just can't.
Excuse me while I exhale.
Here are some cute family photos.
I love my life, I do, but sometimes it is also so suffocating.
I am surrounded with laundry that needs to be done as I type this and it is nagging at me like a mosquito that won't leave you alone and keeps zipping by your ears, you know at some point it's going to get you, but it's impossible to know when.