Dark

I hear the chorus, you know. The one saying, "don't be so hard on yourself." I appreciate all of the people who are expressing this sentiment. But...

I really don't see how I am being hard on myself. My husband is fond of telling me, "Cut yourself some slack." Can someone please tell me exactly what that looks like? I am really confused about all of this and how exactly I am being "hard on myself." Because, well, if I do these things...Ease up on myself (which I am clueless of how to do because I don't see me being hard on myself), is it going to make my situation better? Is it going to give me hours in which to see/live with/play with/love my children? Is it going to give me back the moment where my baby child first sat by himself or pulled up, witnessed only by a frazzled daycare worker who is trying to take care of 10 other children not belonging to her? Is it going to transform my blog into something colorful and light? If this magic would happen, I would happily give myself enough rope to swing like Tarzan or build a bridge across the Grand Canyon.

I am just sad. In mourning really. Mourning ideals that are lost. Mourning a kind of life that has been blocked from me that I had wanted so badly and did not prepare for. I do not handle disappointment well. A friend told me before that I "led a charmed life." Perhaps the charm has run out? I have used up every scrap of magic and luck for the time being. How does one make the glass refill itself?

I have always believed (well, not always, but that is another story) that I am the master of my destiny. If I was unhappy, then I could change my life by just deciding to. The life you want is like an apple on a tree. If you can spy the most beautiful and perfect fruit, if you can reach for it, then it is yours. I don't believe in fate controlling the outcome of my existence. While I still don't believe in fate, I think that maybe sometimes you are powerless. Maybe sometimes you suffer and cannot stop it. You would think I would have learned this lesson from working with crime victims, but no. I think the message that I want to leave is this: feeling bad about my situation feels like the only thing I can do about it. This brings me a bit of comfort in that I feel I might be attached to the human race in this way. This suffering brings me closer to Van Gogh and Hamlet. Or maybe it just makes me a lunatic, just like them.

I am not sure I am making any sense at all. This blog has become so dark and I had intended it to be so introspective and enlightened. Another intention unrealized. I say this with a smile in that perhaps I am being taught that my control-freaky self needs to let go and quit feeling responsible for things out of my control. Maybe this is the "slack."