Low Speed Come Apart.

Is it possible, you think, to be burnt out on everything in your entire world?

I feel like a sandcastle built a little too close to the water. And the tide has come in and begun to wash parts of me away.

The part of me who cared that she's a diabetic and needs to take care of herself better? Gone. I have a seriously high A1c, and I can't even pretend to care about what that's doing to my body. I KNOW I need to do better. I even know exactly what to do to get there. I have the meds, I have the pens, syringes, vials and test strips, I just seriously don't care enough to do it. I even know it's a life or death thing, but that doesn't really wring even an ounce of guilt out of me. Not even enough to BEGIN to care.

And then there's the Mom part of me. It's eroding fast. Really fast. Right now, I have a baby who wants constant attention (and I understand that. She's a baby. Babies need constant attention) or always needs something done for her, and I have a five year old who is seriously feeling neglected because I can't dance constant attention on HER, and therefore has become insanely defiant and pushy. Oh, and who thinks I am her own personal couch and punching bag combo. I swear, every night at bedtime for the past two weeks, I've gotten bruises from putting her to bed. I can't shit by myself--I can't even get a minute alone in the bathroom to put a tampon in.

The friend part of me? That's been gone for a long freaking time. I used to pride myself on keeping up with friends, and that's just going down the crapper. I had lunch with a friend from High School last week, and half way through I realized that even though I really like this person, I have no space in my head left for being an engaging conversationalist. I am sure I came off badly in that one. I have friends I haven't talked to in weeks because there's just not enough left of me to pick up the phone and call them.

The wife part of me was probably the first to go. I spend all day with hands on me--in my hair, down my shirt, wrapped around my arm, grabbing my lip--ALL DAY LONG. There is no part of me that, at the end of the day, wants to be romantic with my husband. I am all touched out. Even at night I end up with small feet in the middle of my back or a head on my tummy or someone wrapped around my left leg. Sometimes I end up snuggling a baby all night long and having a tiny fist wrapped in my hair or caught up in my shirt. I miss having personal space.

I haven't seen my brother since Peyt's birthday party. Even then I saw him briefly. I see my Mom every week, but some weeks--and I love her DEARLY--some weeks it seems like a lot of effort.

There are so many other parts of me that I'm not sure where the Amber part went, or when I lost her. The only planes where I exist are in what I am to other people. I am a wife and a Mom and a daughter and a sister and a (shitty) friend...but along the road somewhere I forgot who I am. I used to have all of these plans for my life...and I have made headway on not a single one of them. Not one. I didn't plan to ever be a stay-at-home Mom, although I know I'm lucky to be here and that many women would kill to stay with their kids all day. I planned to own my own home and have a yard and all that horseshit. I thought I'd have my own job--a paycheck job--doing something I loved and that was important and meaningful--or maybe I'd be a published author by now. Just something.

Seriously, I know that I'm going to get a ton of comments about how raising kids is important, and I get that. I do. I understand that raising kids is a meaningful and important thing to do. And I'm sure people are going to point out things they think about me that are nice and great things to be. I just don't really care anymore. I'm looking into the future, and I'm seeing not much to be excited about. I'm turning into the person everyone looks through, and it's feeling pretty damned bleak.

Meh. I should go to bed. This is a major downer post.