It’s Not PMS and If You Say It Is I’ll Shank You |

It’s Not PMS and If You Say It Is I’ll Shank You

June 12th, 2012

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I’ve been incredibly irritable the past several days. I’m not sure if the Lexapro isn’t working so well, or what it is.

Maybe it’s the vacation I keep saying everyone else needs. Clearly I could use one myself. But I think – I think the reason I’m not looking forward to it as much as, say, The Tech Guru, is that for me, a vacation is often a case of going to a different place to do the same shit.

Cook. Clean. Take care of the kids. Except in Cancun, or St. John, or somewhere else, where I can look out over an ocean or a nice view as I STILL make breakfast or bathe Pudding or whatever. Vacations don’t change much for me. Oh sure there are some new experiences to be had, but it’s not like the Tech Guru, who does not have to go into the office or, for the most part, even think about his job unless there’s some high level of drama. My job continues…no matter where I go. I don’t get a break from it. No matter where we go, I am still doing it.

It’s terrible because I am snapping at the kids and the Tech Guru and just pretty much…unhappy. And I can’t pinpoint a reason why.

I started getting crafty again and as I was making a handbag I started thinking to myself, why am I doing this? Not in a WTF kind of way, because I do genuinely enjoy it, but just trying to be really introspective about what was compelling me to get crafty and creative again after taking a break for so long. And then it came to me…I feel like I have to create…

In order to avoid destroying.

It’s like I’m trying to counter-act something inside of me that feels…destructive. Self-destructive. And by creating things and putting things that are hopefully some small bits of beauty, not only am I keeping my hands and brain busy but I am avoiding something that is…bad.

I have to think about this more in order to verbalize it clearly but I knew, as those thoughts coursed through my head, that there was truth in them. That somehow, I am trying to keep myself from descending again into depression. And although it is clearly NOT working in totality, it is helping, somewhat.

But not a lot. And whatever balm I am getting from this creative bent, seems to be decreasing. I think it’s why I want to attack the house projects with such vigor. It’s like…needing more drugs or something. Just making a scarf isn’t enough. Now, I want to retile the fireplace and redo the front steps and do something big and ridiculous that I can engross myself in.