Curled into a fetal position, incapable of even willing myself to sit up. Repeating my children's names over and over, just to remind myself that I must endure.
It doesn't even hurt.
I am numb.
I hear them cry, daddy is in charge and one is tired and the other is needing cuddles.
Mommy cannot cuddle, she is too busy holding herself.
I knew these few weeks would be hard. I knew that I was pushing myself too much without taking the time for self care. So it's not surprising that I find myself here. Balled up in my numbness.
Still willing myself just to sit up.
I manage to open my eyes. The tears abated a while ago, the numbness persists. I feel empty. I feel lost. I feel like I am continuing to fail. Taking care of everyone but me, losing myself a little more each day. I am fighting a losing battle. The comforts of "home" lost in our transition from Kentucky to Georgia. I blame myself for all of this.
I see my pain reflected in my son's frustration. His tears are my tears.
I beg for help, and then I realize why I am home. To be helped.
I am at least sitting up now. Baby steps.
Maybe tomorrow will be easier.
Maybe tomorrow I will run again.