The truth is that my family unit, the six of us, we've had a rough few years.
There are things that have happened that altered the course of our lives. Some within the control of people, others not. Each with their own set of consequences.
There are times that I know that it's overwhelming to me and I know that I can barely handle it all. The panic attacks make that pretty obvious. The insomnia. The fact that I didn't eat at all yesterday until dinner and the familiar pains in my stomach were comforting.
I'm afraid to admit that last one, because it means that I know I'm feeling that desperate, that powerless. That I'm trying to regain control of the one thing that I know I can. The anorexia that lingers in the back of my head when everything else spirals out of control is taunting me. Again.
I'm not in a good place.
We're not in a good place.
As the consequences weigh heavier on us, combined with the wonders of genetics, we struggle.
We all struggle.
I feel like I'm sinking right now no matter how hard I fight. Like I'm not doing enough, like I can't do enough, like it will never be enough. It's dragging me down, down, down.
I know that I'm trying. I know that I'm doing everything within my power. I know that none of that matters because so much of this is beyond my control now.
Most days I can tread water just fine. I can roll with the tides. I can keep my head above water. I can get it all done. I can put my feet on the ground in shallow water, stand and feel the warmth of the sun even sometimes.
What I need right now is a good float. A chance to lay my head back and relax and trust that the water won't drag me down again. A moment to close my eyes and find some quiet. Peace.
We all could use a good float.
Especially the one who is most like me.
What is it they say about hope?