focus . focus . focus

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How I wish uttering these three little words magically called upon a little focus fairy. That would be my superpower, if I could conjure one.

How I wish all my plans and dreams for the day (the ones that flutter about my unsleeping mind before I go to bed, the ones that have filled my personal journals for years, prefaced by, "I would be a better mom if...") could actually be put into practice when I wake up the next morning.

I can never predict what a morning will bring. And no, I'm not talking the physical things, because this isn't dependent at all on the physical. The toast may burn to a black crisp, the hot water heater may go out, all my underwear may be in the laundry, and I could still have a delightful morning that leaves me feeling energized and productive. I mean the weather over my head. The little black storm cloud that makes the tiniest things seem the biggest frustrations, or the haze that leaves me apathetic and unmoving, or the darkness that has me curled up in a ball and unable to breathe. The mental, the spiritual. It is completely unpredictable.

Certain things help. Surprising things, actually... things that took me years to figure out. For instance, if I've caught up with the laundry and my kitchen is clean, sometimes this is enough to get me going in the morning. If my house is clean, I feel like I can breathe, and I have more motivation to do other, important things.

But that's the funny thing about anxiety. Sometimes it's there, and I don't even know it.

Sometimes, it's like I'm swinging on a vine. The vine is life. I'm doing great. I'm grasping tight, and we're swinging, swinging. And the kitchen is clean and the living room is picked up and the laundry is done and this is me holding onto the vine, and I made dinner last night from scratch, just like I like to, and this is me grasping onto that vine, and I got up at 7 this morning instead of 10 like last week, because last week was full of my "down days" and I could barely lift my head off my pillow, I had let go of the vine and crashed, but now I'm holding onto that damn vine, and we're swinging and swinging, but I need to add one more thing, just one more thing, and it's swinging, and I've found myself in this pattern and I'm proud of it and it's predictable, but oh now I have to add homeschooling, and I have to do it while swinging on this vine, and that seems impossible, and I just... can't... let go. Or I'll fail.

That's how I'm feeling this week. My house is clean. I've cooked... kinda. We are in a predictable rhythm. Up, and over, up, and over. Again and again. Even my kitchen is clean. But I'm afraid the minute I reach for the homeschool books, it will all come crashing down. We've sat down to do school twice this week. Am I failing my children?

Why can't I handle All The Things like most people can?

Wait, don't answer that. I know why. I just don't like the answer.

The thing is, it's not strong enough to medicate, but severe enough that it cuts me off. It just cuts me off, like an interruption. One minute I'm hopping on the computer to look up a recipe for dinner, and an hour later my kids are still hungry and I'm watching cat videos. What the hell happened? To a neurotypical person, it doesn't make sense. But if only I could get you to understand, to step inside my brain and live a day trying to make it cooperate.

It's 2:17pm and I haven't served lunch yet. I went ahead and bought two bags of frozen chicken nuggets from Target last night. They are all-natural; I checked the ingredients and that makes me feel better about relying on frozen food. I'm choosing not to beat myself up about this. Lunch in ten minutes! And then maybe we'll do school today.

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