Just breathe...

[bluerose_4evr]

I'm finding myself transforming into the person I never wanted to be.

Maybe it's the hormones. I'd like to believe that it will all pass in a matter of time. I don't like who I am capable of being. A monster. I feel like I am at the brink of cutting my last string, of possibly losing control. I know I am stronger than that, but how much harder can the me I want to be hold out on the one I don't to take control?

This sounds insane. How can you not control who you are? Can a three year old boy really push me over the edge? It's got to be the hormones... Please, just be the hormones.

I piece of me cried every time I scream. I hate yelling. I hate the way it sounds. I hate the way it feels. I hate the terror I see in those little eyes every time I change. If he could just behave... What a terrible excuse... terrible.

Then the tears that follow. My tears. Pouring out of my eyes as I fall into myself sobbing. Hating who I've let myself become. I don't want to be a monster. I always promised myself I wouldn't let it happen. And yet here I am. Losing control. Screaming at a small child, who is learning nothing from it but to scream himself. But can I stop? I'm sure it's possible... but I don't know how.

How I am to justify bringing a third life into this world, when I've let myself become this.. thing?? How is it possible that I could be blessed with another innocent life, only to be possible that I might just screw up?

The guilt that follows is almost worse than the crime itself. The same small boy that I direct the monster at is then consoling me. "Shhh.. it's ok. Don't cry Mommy. I love you. Don't cry. You not bad Mommy, you good. shhh.. don't cry.." Do I even deserve it?

Every excuse in the book doesn't justify the way I feel. Who cares if I'm at work 6 days a week? Who cares if I don't sleep enough? Who cares about stress? Who cares about the bottle of red food coloring that covered my house? Or the 1700 pieces of puzzle that had to go in the trash because they were strewn about the floor? Or the 9 board games I spent 3 hours trying to separate off the boys floor because he decided to climb to the top of his closet and pull them down? Who cares? I am Mommy. None of that is supposed to matter. It doesn't matter. I have a job to do, and I don't feel up to par.

My head is throbbing. My eyes are weak from the salt. I just want to be me again... *Normal* in whatever sense it's supposed to be. I want the monster to fall down under the weight, never to return.
Please don't return...