I began 2021 with definite plans. Then my eldest son's girlfriend was killed in a road traffic accident.
This was apparently the straw which broke me - two years after H's stroke, after nine months of lockdown, the death of my father-in-law and my best friend's mum, and obviously the constant strain of caring for H, I'm worn thin and on the brink.
Last Friday I started counseling. God, I need it. There's been no time to process anything. I've been stuck in survival mode, and I am so. Damn. Tired. An utter lack of any kind of support through lockdown hasn't helped. I feel overwhelmed, isolated, and frustrated.
Writing has barely happened. I had hoped it was just January blues, but I now think it's all related. Adding on the stress of writing - of trying to hit targets - has compounded those feelings of overwhelm and frustration (the latter largely because I can't cope with the former, ironically enough.)
So I'm giving myself time off. At least a couple of weeks while I work through some of the bottled up emotions and get my head straight.