Catatonic

I hate it here.

I just had to see it in black and white so I am not lying to myself or anyone else. I hope that in six months, I can look back at this blog and read this entry and feel differently. Really, I am miserable and for no good reason. People are nice, Marc loves his job, the kids are happy...how can I possibly be this glum? I never anticipated I could be this dark, but today I feel hopeless. I feel like I have given up finding the good in the dream. The one in which Marc is happy doing his Director of Chemistry thing, and the kids are perfectly adjusted, and I have found my niche.

It rained today in Biblical magnitude. Think Noah's Ark and you are close to imagining the day. The main issue is I navigate a Sequoia and not a boat, so this was problematic today. Like the case in which I almost ran over our six year old, when she darted in front of the car as I picked her up from school. She thought I was stopping, but I was rolling ahead to allow her more room to open the door on the rear passenger side. The torrential rain was so heavy, I could not even see her. It is by the grace of God that she is unscathed. His hand was on her today, and for that, I am so grateful. We drove carefully to North County for Swim Team pictures, that were (duh) cancelled due to weather conditions. She swam the workout there anyway.

I hate that I was soaked to the bone in the three seconds I crossed the parking lot to pick her up from swim team. Standing, once again, at the car to load her and laughing in spite of the situation: my hair plastered to my face, my clothes soaking wet, I laughed out of fear I might cry if I thought about the stupidity of it all. The wind was blowing gusts of sheets and sheets of rain. Rain so heavy, it blinded me as I opened her door to hustle her into her carseat. How do people live like this, anyway? I laughed a strange and eerie laugh that is not mine at all. I laughed until I had to lay my head on the steering wheel of the parked car in convulsions, with my kids looking at each other with uncertainty in the backseat.

I hate that the more people I meet, the more they tell me how "wonderful" it is here and all I want to do is run home and forget about it. They laugh and make fun of the lack of conveniences that exist, but how they love the "small town". How is it I am spearheading playgroups, joining the PTA, rallying neighbors for events, but I am miserable? I feel like Jackal and Hyde. I want to be part of the community and I am signing the kids on for everything and committing myself to everything, but my heart aches and my head hurts and I wish I could just sleep the day away. I feel like I am trying, but something is just not working...it is not fluid like it should be.

I ran bridge repeats this morning. I only planned on running six, and the wind nearly blew me off the top. The fury of it, whipping along, screeching its presence, nearly slowed me to a stop when I was heading into it going East. I only wanted to run six, but I ran eight simply to feel alive. The only time I feel like I am even a shell of who I was is when I am running. Everything else in my universe is so out of whack, I cannot bear to think about the details. I fold laundry in a daze and shuttle kids simply going through the motions. I nod and listen to my swim coach because he berates me and it stirs some emotion in me that reminds me I am human. Right now I mostly feel catatonic....except that I cannot be a hat rack. I have to live and move and breathe and carry on a household and feed children and kiss my husband.

Even if I never run a step with my old running partners, I cannot bear the thought of being so far away from everyone and everything that was the center of my universe before. Marc's mom sent another package today and I could barely stand to open it. I willed myself to do it because the kids were shrieking, pleading to see what was inside. It's like I cannot bear to really think about what I feel like we are missing from our old lives. I threw away the Zoo News publication from the San Diego Zoo that is forwarded to this address. I don't want to read about their hippos.

Yesterday was a good day. Today was very much something else. I hope tomorrow will be something that won't seem manic when I put it in print.