This is not about CoVid19 – Part 2

I see the news and cancellations and the number of infected individuals coming in from all sides. However, I am so consumed by my own perceived catastrophe, blown out of proportion by all the cognitive distortions I learned about during my CBT therapy. But I am too far down the spiral to climb out of it now. I had been counting on meeting with the social worker and special educator to discuss the steps we would take in what the professionals I spoke to at Giancarlo’s school called a dire emergency. Given the CoVid restrictions, our emergency meeting has been postponed temporarily to March 20th, a week away. I realize I am alone, again. I manage to scrape together enough rational thinking to realize that I need to fix my mindset, quick. More despair and discouragement ensue. I observe my mom engaging in blowing balloons and playing barbies, cooking up a meal and caring for my little monsters. They manipulate and take advantage of her weaknesses – she is so worried about me that she just wants to keep them happy so I can stay on the couch and not intervene. What a fucking mess of a mother I am.

My parents decide to take Giancarlo to the chalet with them Friday night. The squeals of joy and happy flapping that boy emits when he is excited – boy, it even made my numbed heart smile. I get up to help him get ready for the trip he is so enthusiastically anticipating. He takes a running start and bodychecks me into a bear hug. This boy loves me so intensely. He needs me to get my act together. They leave and tears are streaming down my face, although I barely notice. I am lost in thoughts I cannot even identify. Rosalia looks up at me and asks “mommy, are you okay?”

Somehow these words come out of my mouth, “Honestly, my love, I’m not so okay right now. But I will be. I just have so many feelings right now that they are pouring out. But I am going to work on finding solutions. I am good at fixing problems. Everything will work out and I will be okay again soon. You don’t need to worry about fixing me.”

Together Rosalia and I create and laminate an activity wheel, individualized schedules for her and her brother, and prep a bunch of activities for our first “homeschool” day when Giancarlo returns from the chalet. We laugh together. I feel productive, proactive, I see glimpses of hope that maybe it won’t be as bad as I am anticipating.

I have been through worse. I need to stop listening to the lies my anxiety is telling me. Andrà tutto bene.

The world is fighting a fatal pandemic for fuck’s sake. My problems pale in comparison.

Andrà tutto bene.

I ran away to a hotel last night. I live a priviledged life, I know. I am grateful for that, but it only adds to the guilt. Look at everything at my disposal and I still can’t snap out of this. I was staring up at the stars last night – something I haven’t done in so long. Cried my eyes out again. And that was it. I decided I was gonna keep fighting.

I took the time to be alone and take a bath and write this blog. In a few seconds I’m closing my laptop and going to pick up my kids from the chalet (I dropped Rosalia off there yesterday). I can’t wait to see them. Wish me luck!

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