Well, that’s just about all I can take. I can only lay there for so long and my mind gets the better of me. Seriously, can someone turn the ringing off in my ears? Or maybe I should just learn to sleep vertically? Doesn’t matter, the ringing is there even if I’m sitting up.
The thing is; my ears ring more and more the more I think. I try to turn my mind off, but it doesn’t get weary at all. It lies dormant until I’ve forgotten that I was trying not to think. Then I begin to think again and the incessant ringing and pressure in my head starts pounding the same as before.
So, some nights are just like this. They’re called ‘Bad Nights’. I’m supposed to accept that and move on?
The Propranolol? I haven’t taken it, yet. My heart isn’t racing out of control.
It’s been two weeks since my thyroid scan, so that’s obviously adding to my aggravation.
Sometimes I just think that I have to get my life back under control and the ringing will stop. Is there a pill for that? A pill that will boost my self-esteem and motivation? Maybe I’d be happier and feel like I have purpose in life. I used to think I had purpose. I used to be happy at one point. I used to be myself at one time and I can barely remember what that feels like anymore.
I’m not happy with my self, right now, that’s for sure. I am sad, pathetic, useless and tired. And it’s times like this when I really think I hate life, I hate living and I hate the thought of dying alone. It’s this lack of motivation that is making me sick. I’m nearly 32 and I have no husband, no children, no house, no pension or retirement plan. I have ideas for my business, but the plans escape me. I have a career in which I like, but it’s been so long since I have “worked” in a group setting that I don’t know if I’m any good at what I do. I would like to write a book, but I have no clue where to start or if my writing will even pass for mediocre. I’d like to become something but have no clue what that is.
I’m worried that even if I do get my thyroid straightened out that I’ve missed my chance to have children. I’m worried that I’ve already met the best man for me and I was too blind to recognize him. I’m worried that I’m going to be 70, in a nursing home, bitching and playing crib with no visitors on Sundays. I’m worried that I spent my life wanting to be something that I’m never going to be. A good wife and a loving mother. I didn’t want to be a doctor or lawyer. I didn’t want to be an Olympic Gold Medalist.
I wanted to have the lovely house on the acreage, the woodshed full of firewood and the garden full of goodness out back. I wanted to have the quaint and colorful kitchen with the big heavy locally made coffee cups, the big spice rack, the pots hanging from the ceiling and the plants along with window above the sink. I wanted to look out that window and see my family’s clothes drying in the noonday sun. I wanted the big bookcase and the two reading chairs in the cozy living room. I wanted to have a house full of music, children laughing, toys to be picked up everyday and a faithful dog in front of the stone hearth. I wanted to be able to walk a steamy cup of coffee to my desk, where I’d work for bits of the day at a time. I wanted to pack the kids up and go into town or over to Gramma’s house. I wanted to lay every night beside the man I love and I wanted to wake up with his arms around me every morning. I wanted to feel safe and loved and protected and cherished. I wanted to love so fiercely and be loved back with such confidence that nothing could keep us from rocking on the porch of our house forever and ever until the end.
I wanted these things all my life. Oh, the details have changed somewhat over the years but the general life map is there. The home, the “man”, the kids. What if my time is over? What if I missed that train?
I’m so tired of wanting these things, but there’s nothing else I really want for myself. And I’m really having a hard time being thankful for what I do have.