A bit different

Sometimes...I'm just so tired of being me. I look in the mirror and simultaneously want to cry and punch it all at the same time. I do so well sometimes, focusing on my blessings, breathing in and out and noticing the wonder about me. But I'm never happy as me. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of lying to myself and forcing the negative away. I try so hard not to let it get a hold of me but at every turn there is only disappointment in myself. I can go months, almost a whole year telling myself that I've overcome it. I can find good things about myself and try to focus on those. But in the end it always comes back. Even now I cannot explain what I truly feel. The words coming out are not at all what I mean to say. The words reflect whining, evoke feelings of watching a little girl lament about her privileged life. But really, what I'm trying to convey is utter exhaustion. 

I don't want to have the urge to claw at my legs with my nails till my legs are magically sculpted bloody as that may be. I don't want to exercise until I feel like vomiting, giving myself affirmations--"fuck you, fuck fuck you." I don't want to hold my chin taunt anymore and only see the waggle of my neck skin every time I take a photo with my child. I don't want to talk to my husband and hear him mention someone is nice looking and want to hurl myself off a bridge. I don't want to feel guilty for eating a meal, any meal. I don't want to feel the ultimate goal is the ability to not eat and beat myself up for the inability to reach that goal. I don't want to mourn for my children that they have me as a mother. I don't want to measure my self worth by how "on top of things" I am. I don't want to wonder any longer what purpose and good I am serving in this life. 

I want to KNOW with my soul. I want to feel that imperfection is ok and my imperfections are not going to cause the world, more importantly my family, to cast me aside. I know with my brain that these are illogical feelings. I can tell you with my brain it doesn't make sense. I can tell you I love my mother no matter her size. I can tell you a child with a caring mother that puts her children's best interests first is always going to be the best mom ever. I can tell you that a messy house pales in comparison to children that feel loved. I can tell you that our purpose in this life is about the people we touch, those that we love and help. I can tell you that and I can logically believe it. Because it's true. But I just can't feel it. I hate me. I hate the system. I hate whatever this is. I hate being inadequate for myself. 

**This post is about me being fed up with this shit. I am not suicidal and do know, to the core of me, that my children and family love me so very much. I do not ever think ending my life is a good idea. On the contrary, it would fuck up my children, husband, parents and brother forever. The world is not better with me gone because that's just stupid. The world, besides my family, truthfully does not give a shit if I'm here or not. Plus, since I don't contribute harm to the world and am a caring mother it wouldn't make sense for me to even say the world is better without me. 

So please don't take this to mean that. Please. Because it doesn't. I don't know what this is. A form of depression, simple self hate? I call it self disappointment. I'm not sure if I can ever live up to the goals rattling around inside me. I just wanted to say I'm sick of trying. The same way I'm sick of doing the dishes every night. The same way one is exhuasted when the baby cries at 2 a.m. But we all still do the dishes day after day. And we always roll out of bed to soothe or feed our little ones.