Yesterday, I blew it. First of all, I had vertigo in the morning. The night before my son had complained of getting dizzy walking up the stairs and collapsed into bed. Monday morning I had to hold onto walls to keep my balance.
Using the vertigo as an excuse (probably a good reason to avoid driving, though I did take my kid to and from school), I bailed attending an Orange County Community Action Advisory Committee meeting. Why I even went to the previous month’s meeting, I do not know. I don’t even use any county services. I suppose I could. I am on disability. There are services available, as well as nonprofit peer support groups nearby. But, I don’t.
Eventually I bail on every group (but I am still married, and no matter how much of a failure I feel as a mother, I haven’t run away). Honestly, I just do not feel comfortable with the whole group membership thing, and so I shirk any and all expectations. I’ve trained to be a NAMI volunteer, but I’ve done minimal, absolutely minimal volunteering. I’m a farce. A joke. An illusion. I feel like a total fucking failure.
I even bailed on going out for our anniversary dinner, which suited my husband. He’d just as soon put his jammies on after work. But, I was isolating myself and neglecting putting myself together, making myself look and feel pretty, or at least presentable. I want to be waited on hand and foot, I wanted to eat delicious food, I just wasn’t up for going out to a restaurant. I wasn’t up for going OUT, period. I failed once again as a mother, losing it when my son threw a fit. I responded with a fit of my own. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I JUST CANNOT HOLD IT TOGETHER ANYMORE. I’m undone. I’m completely undone.
Now, I’m debating bailing on meeting an acquaintance for lunch. She’s a lovely woman writer, a mother (no doubt a better mother), who is a member of OC Writers, a local writers’ group which I have not gone to in quite some time. Shit.