Back in the Saddle

I haven't blogged in a long, long time.  I'm not sure I even care to be blogging now, to be honest.  I just know I need to get things out of my head and frankly I can type faster than I can write in a journal.  So here goes.

Perhaps a check in is the best format for this. 

Where am I physically?  I'm 36, married with two kids ages almost 9 and 11.5.  3 cats, 1 house, 1 job.  Living in the suburbs of Detroit and working in the city.  Sober 3.5 years.  Husband unemployed nearly 6 months now, so wearing the mantle of sole provider for the household, minus his unemployment contribution.  I suffer from near-constant pain, from sciatica and other health problems.  I don't sleep well, or exercise, or eat right.  I'm kind of a mess.

Where am I mentally? Here I know I'm the biggest mess.  I'm tired of life and all the stress it brings.  I'm tired of making it through one day at a time.  I'm tired of dealing with problems.  I'm tired of jumping hurdles and running races.  I'm tired of working too hard for too little pay.  I'm tired of pain. I have so much resentment and anger that it's making me miserable, not just to myself but to the people around me, to my kids and husband.

I resent that I am the sole earner.  I know that finding a job is tough and that my husband is trying but I feel like he hasn't been trying hard enough.  I resent that I have to nag him every. single. day. to get things done.  Make a car payment, call the bank, do the taxes, cook dinner.  I resent that he hasn't picked up much slack around the house.  I feel if I were out of work I'd be busting my butt to keep the house clean, the family fed, the work done.  I know he's depressed, and has a host of physical health issues himself, but I can't help but be annoyed when I walk through the door at 5 after a day of intense work and the dinner isn't made, the kitchen isn't cleaned, and he hasn't done any of the things he said he would do that day.

I resent my job, they pay me peanuts and I've got more responsibilities than any one person should have. 

I resent my kids, though I hate to admit it.  I resent the energy they need from me, the way they take so much for granted, how messy and irresponsible they are.

Sometimes I resent my sobriety, because if I could drink I could make all this go away for a little while.  But I know that is not an option, so I keep plugging on, day after day.  And I resent that too.