All Work and No Play Makes Beth a Crazy Girl

So, after almost losing my damn mind, months and months of keeping the secret that I almost lost my damn mind, abandoning this blog and all my cherished internet friends because of shame and crippling writing/computer phobia, having daily to keep track of all the various lies I'd told to cover my tracks and pretend to be normal, mental and emotional exhaustion, suddenly finding out that I was going to be inheriting a (for me) pretty damn large sum of money after the death of a second cousin, beginning to build a new house and trying to get things fixed up on this old one, intense rage at my horrible uncle for various will-related shenangians pertaining to the aforementioned inheritance, family drama regarding uncle and money and evil going unpunished, constant worry and feeling of overwhelming doom accompanied by nerve-wracking adrenaline rushes, no sleeping or too much sleeping, lots of eating, unending mental tape loops and revenge scenarios (ahhh, my old friends), and finally having my I'm-really-totally-normal-and-everything-is-cool cover blown by the arrival of W2s that reveal how I didn't actually make the money I was supposed to last summer because I got to the point that I couldn't get out of my car in the parking garage, but would go to "work" anyway and sit in my car for 4-5 hours at a stretch in order to pretend that all was well...

I've finally sought therapy. And am considering medication. It's a little scary. Apparently my giant impotent rage intersected with my paralyzing fear in a bad way. Huh. Imagine.

So now I have some kind of anxiety disorder accompanied by obsessive tendencies.

You know, I always thought that was just my personality. And I guess it kind of is, except that various life experiences have exaggerated the parts of my own personality that would like very much to crush me, and I haven't had an equal number of experiences that would've helped me to learn to get over it. I can't seem to get over anything, as it turns out.

It's all about lack of control, I guess. But really, what do I know? I'm just a stunted teenager who fears getting into trouble and therefore can't fess up to having fucked up.

The secret is avoidance, people! Avoid-avoid-avoid! And all will be magically fine!

Oops, except for those W2s and that uncle. Damnation. It's always something.

I've only been to therapy twice so far, but I like the woman very much. She's cool. I wish I could talk to her for like 6 hours at a time, while drinking coffee on a couch with squishy pillows and our shoes off. I'm greedy.

Luckily, Andy didn't divorce me or anything. I'm really lucky. He's under so much stress, and he's got me to freaking deal with, but he doesn't ever leave. Huh. Imagine.

I love him so much it makes me cry all the time, because I don't know how I got this lucky, and I feel I don't always deserve him, and I'm constantly terrified he will get fed up and leave, but somehow he doesn't, and then I feel even more abject and grateful. He's so beautiful and good, it makes my heart scoot up into my throat.

And the kids are fine. Ethan is gearing up for a trip to Italy with the children's choir this summer and is beginning to play at having "girlfriends" (EEP!), Simon is brightly charming his way through French kindergarten, correcting my accent here and there, and Charlotte is adorable and tiny and hilarious and loves me ferociously.

I can't seem to get pictures uploaded. Weird. I guess I'll add them to Flickr, and hope they show up on my badge there on the right. I don't know what I'm doing anymore!

To my internet friends, if you're still out there. I have visited your places, but haven't had the courage to comment, because I'm so ashamed of myself. I miss you, and I'm sorry.