Here I am at the end of my day and once again I haven’t written. I could easily blame it on my ridiculously busy day (and week) but I think the truth is that I’m just not all that inspired anymore. Not to write and really not to live much. I’m so tired and stressed all the time and I feel the weight of my responsibilities too much. Yet when I lay down to sleep at night I struggle with turning off my mind so that I may rest.

I love my son and my husband but I find myself not finding much joy in my life right now. Sure, I play with my son and hear his wonderful laugh and it makes me smile but I would also love to curl up in a ball on the couch for hours. I totally get how people self-medicate. These are my hallmark signs of something eating at me that I haven’t dealt with. Things I’m not sure how to deal with.

In a way it’s a blessing that I’m under a mountain of deadlines and responsibilities at work. At least that is something that can occupy my mind. Something that I don’t have to think too much about, that comes fairly naturally. Other times it feels like a stress I cannot bear and I literally want to burst into tears at my desk.

I checked my insurance today to see what the coverage is for some counseling. I suppose that is at least a good sign. A sign that I realize I’m struggling. That I know I need some help working through things. I’ve been to therapy before but I never stick with it. I always uncover things I don’t want to deal with or think about and I generally wind up a puddle of goo in some virtual stranger’s office. And it makes me uncomfortable.

I shouldn’t bury things though. I have a little person that depends on me now. A little person that needs me to set a good example for him. To teach him how to grow up and be healthy. I don’t know when and if I’ll make the call. To set the appointment. Who knows, maybe this will be the time that I stick with it and work through more than just my recent tragedies.