It started with a school uniform.
I should have known it was coming, given my state of mind the past few weeks. I only did it with John and Hannah there, but I couldn't hold in my frustration of all the past several months. Paper was thrown, not-so-lovely words (gasp!) were heard, my voice increased ten-fold in decibals, and all over a stupid uniform.
Well, it's never really one thing, is it? John losing his full-time job, the car being so quivery and not working right, acting like it was going to break down all last fall, and on and on and on. It's like the niggly little things all snowballed into one huge weight that refuses to roll off our backs.
The past four years, we have tried and tried to figure out exactly which type of uniforms are acceptable. Of course, one can go the expensive, buy-it-from-Parker-firsthand route. Which will make you did so deep into your pockets, you can tickle your own ankle. OR... you can go to area second-hand stores or Kid to Kid, which carries non-Parker brand, but uniform-style at least.
So (deep breath), I bought two NEW skorts last week. Then Hannah comes home and says it's not the right one, or at least her teacher makes an announcement and says that some girls are not wearing the correct skorts. Now, I must tell you that my daughter has this horrible habit of smiling and being so chipper when she tells bad news. And lately, it seems the more stressed WE get, the more she needs reassurance (of course, that's reasonable), but instead of backing off, she tells us bad news after bad news like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The other shoe dropped.
Something about that stupid uniform set me off and I was angry. I was LIVID!!! I didn't throw things AT John and Hannah, mind you. But I took the paper recycling bin, and starting ripping and shredding and tearing into it like there was no tomorrow. I'm not exactly thrilled the screen door was opened and all the neighborhood heard my brief, but anguished cry for a less-stressed life.
I know I scared my baby. I feel bad about that. But I realized that I needed to just get mad for once. Not cry. Not simper. Not whimper. Not coddle my angry mood until it goes back into its corner for round two or three or 58 of a crappy life. I needed a no-holds-barred outlet of raw, mental pain that won't let up and has been building for days, weeks, months and, at times, years.
I feel like I need to just go to a cabin for three or four days. Just totally get away. As someone who needs utter peace and quiet, those things are nowhere to be found. I go to many a park, true, but it's so hard to find true quiet, where people are not traipsing up and down and everywhere. And yet to go somewhere truly remote is, well, in today's world, a concern. My pepper spray will only help so much.
When I finally made eye contact with John as I took a breath, the love in his eyes, the concern, was nearly my undoing. I wanted to melt. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to say, "I don't deserve your love, go away, I can't handle any of this anymore."
This is what I wrote later that evening.
I see love
reflected
in your eyes
not the hate or greed
or pride,
I see me
the way I long to be
I see love
for all
eternity.
The bleachers,
the Vows
you love me
even now.
The day we said
I DO--
it all goes back
to me and you
I think I shall never see,
Something as lovely as...
YOU
gazing back at me.
"One day at a time," John said, when I asked him how was I going to get through this horrible depression. "One day at a time."
All for now,
a miserable, shaky, feeling-forsaken Tricia, still reaching out for His strong hand
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