I can't sleep. Again. I can't turn off my mind. I'm continually plagued by thoughts of all my failings. That problem my husband has is surely caused by me not being a better wife. I fight the thought that I'm somehow to blame for my toddler's cognitive and behavioral issues; they must be caused by something I do or don't do. The baby's cries serve to remind me of another failing - I can't get my infant to sleep through the night. I don't keep my house clean enough. I don't cook often enough (and when I do, the meals aren't healthy/organic/whatever enough). I'm lazy when I should be working. I have the feeling that, slowly but surely, I'm leading my family into certain ruin.
I want to take something to help me sleep - it's the only thing that quiets the failures screaming through my head - but it's too late. I have to be up and functioning in five hours. Instead, I put on my comfy robe and curl up with my computer and a cup of sleepytime tea. I write instead of scheduling the therapy appointment I so desperately need. I look at the baby now asleep on my breast and pity him because he certainly lost the mommy lottery.
I'm plagued. By all this and more. Instead of wishing away the fears and doubts, I wish away myself, knowing that I'll eventually fall into a fitful sleep before waking up in the morning still where I am. And still deeply, continuously plagued.