the fog

I’m teetering on the edge of a fog.
I know this because I’m crying. A lot.
I am taking everything incredibly personally.
My sleep is restless and broken.
I’m also not getting enough of it.
I’m trying really hard to not fall over the edge into it.
By laughing with my children.
By crying on my friends who take me to lunch, introduce me to subway and make me addicted to terrriyaki chicken w/ sweet onion subs.
Who give me strategies that work.
By talking to my husband and continuing to ‘let him in’.
Then making myself realise how different this is to only a few years ago when I would retreat to angry silence and slam doors.
But I have moments when I do things that I know must damage all I love.
Like telling Oscar I love him but that I need space and can’t have him touch me. And him simply saying OK, then sitting on the other lounge, watching me, and asking “Mumma OK?”
And the thoughts of driving too quickly around that bend, or into the back of that car, or into that tree come back.
And once more I cry.
And cry.
But tomorrow I will wake and have a good day. When all of that is forgotten and I wonder who could that have been.