Like a typhoon in the Pacific
It happens so often that I’m starting to recognize when it’s about that time. The storm is coming. The destruction and fear. The one that I just can’t seem to control no matter how hard I try. Preparing for it is all that I can do.
Stock up on rations. Secure windows and doors.
Except. I am the storm. My rage is the destructive winds lifting everything in site and tearing it down. My tears are the rain that falls throughout the storm. My stress is the cause.
I can feel it. Tears welling up in my eyes knowing I can’t get us out of the hole we’ve dug. Holding them back gets harder as the day rolls on. Every little thing makes me angry. I just want to scream and break things.
The hubs is doing everything and more to get us out, but it’s not enough. But no matter how hard I try, there’s nothing I can do to help him. I’m hopeless. Helpless.
I used to be able to just get up and run away for a while whenever I feel this way. Clear my head and realize that it’s not so bad. But now. Now is different. The stress is with me every single day. Knowing that at any moment things could get worse and I won’t be able to stop it. The helplessness I feel not being able to do anything. And I can’t run. I have children to think about. And that makes it worse because I’ve brought them here to witness my weakness.
I’m going to have a breakdown again. I know. It has already started.