I’ve dug down deep, guys. We’re shifting, we’re adjusting, we’re making it work, and I’m on board. As someone excited to come out the other side of this thing into whatever’s next I’m all in for shortening the isolation period as much as possible. I know we’re doing what we have to do, though, which means sometimes I’m over here holding my sh*t together for the kids.
But today, between us, let’s speak truth.
I’m not okay.
I seriously cannot remember the last decent night’s sleep I had. I’m guessing it’s been a couple of months but who knows, my brain is shot. It takes forever to get sleepy, I’ll wake up half a dozen times overnight, and if I’m lucky enough to actually pass out it’s usually an hour before my alarm. It’s getting a little zombie-like around here in the mornings, man. Then there’s the panic attacks. I’ve had some trouble with anxiety before but never like this. Never anything that catapults me out of bed gasping for air like I’m drowning. Sweet Jesus, the nights are long.
Plus the further we are into this homebound period the more high strung Phoebe’s gotten. At first I thought the kids being around was throwing her off, then I figured she was picking up on my stress. But now? Now I worry she’s just as sleep deprived as I am because this poor dog jerks awake every time I act like the world’s coming to an end in the middle of the night.
I know it won’t be forever but I’m just gonna say it. I’m not okay.