thoughts

I Hate the Sound of Breaking Glass

This was one of my favorite novels years ago and lately I find myself thinking a lot about the first lines. Thinking about broken mirrors and about triggers. I wonder If certain sounds or smells send others into a whirlwind of emotions like they do me. I think about the broken mirror because the sound of breaking glass has been a trigger for me. It’s happened three times.

The first time, Dan asked what was wrong but I didn’t know how to explain anything, I just cried. All I could manage was “ I’m tired, I’m so tired” I don’t know why it’s all I could say. I guess because it was true. Simply put and in the grand scheme of things, it was true.

How can I explain what I don’t understand. Is it my hormones that are making me feel this way? Maybe but why is it so hard to say that without the fear of not being taken seriously or having my feelings brushed aside. Oh there there pregnant lady, you’ll be better soon… Why is it so hard for us to admit that maybe our hormones are making us so sad, so anxious, so afraid.

So tired.

The first time it happened, I was exhausted from cleaning. Danny grabbed an ornament from the Christmas tree, a “ball. ” I had made sure that all the “balls” that were in reach were plastic. The white ones were glass, the clear ones, plastic. Well he grabbed this clear ball and pulled out the hanger and kept fussing for me to put it back in. I was cleaning some pieces of string cheese that had made their way under the sofa, distracted, and he kept fussing. Finally he got so upset he tossed the ornament right onto the tile floor where it shattered into what seemed like a million pieces.

I lost it.

Maybe it was the fact that it was one more thing for me to clean or that it was my fault because I had made the mistake of assuming all the clear ornaments were plastic. Maybe it was the actual sound of the glass breaking and splattering everywhere. That sound just sends my heart and thoughts racing.

Mostly, I think it was everything.

I buried my face in my hands and just started crying. Danny stared at me confused. The look on his face sent me into deeper sobs and finally he laid his head down on the carpet next to me and cried quietly too, the victim of him moms crazy. Well great, now I’m not just nuts, I’m being a bad mom too I kept telling my self in between apologies to him.

When Dan got home I just cried and said I’m tired. He sympathized with me, said he understood and offered solutions to alleviate my exhaustion. “Maybe you can take a nap, do you want a massage?, maybe we can ask your mom to come stay with us and help you out, is there anything I can do?”

Sure

No

No

I don’t know…

The other two times, well, I won’t even get into those. Honestly, they look too much like the first. The glass, my heart racing, my thoughts spinning out of control. And ultimately, the uncharacteristic inability to say how I feel.

Im not really sure what prompted me to write this.

We’re in California celebrating the holidays and Danny is curled up in bed next to me, sleeping. Writing things down when all is quiet always seems to help.

I don’t know,

I guess all I’m trying to say is I’m tired. Like, really really tired.

And God, I really hate the sound of breaking glass.

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