Already Hiking

Two hours laying in bed, not being able to turn my brain off, sinking further into deprecating thoughts and loneliness, and I finally decided to come write to get myself out of it. The house was fittingly dark for 4am. I came to the couch to escape and hide, to write safely covered under a blanket despite the still near 80 degree temperatures outside.
Just one little lamp in the corner, I honestly didn't think much of it, but apparently it was enough to wake up the two year old who I'd woken up for in the first place at 2 when he was out of bed.
I can't even crash into despair and cry myself to sleep on my own?

That's a sign you need help. I need help.
Fully admitted, but what does it matter? I could admit all the things that are wrong or hard, but that doesn't change them. Therein lies the difficulty.

I want to be heard and held and understood. I just want someone to care, to hear and to help. I want to run away and have a break. I can't. I want to hide from all the things I just can't seem to get done. but I can't.
If the outside of me is reflection of the inside of me, I am cluttered with corners in desperate need of deep cleaning. I am as dead as my lawn and filled with weeds. I am thirsty for basic needs, scorching in summer heat.
I am alone.

It was nice to see some friends this last week, and to be reminded of how it was to have friends like that. People I could talk to and work with and listen to, and I felt balanced and refocused after talking to them. But now comes the sad reminder that it was just reliving a nice memory.

Now I am alone.

I want to talk. I want someone to hear me and help convince me that I'm actually doing okay, maybe even quite well for the circumstances. Perhaps they've been through something difficult too, and they can offer suggestions and sympathy. Just a friend to talk to without worrying that I'm dumping on them. I don't think I can survive carrying the pressure by myself. I want to take it off for a few hours.
I'm carrying all the camping supplies my family needs, but without a duffle bag. I keep hoping if I can just set it down and lay it out, I can fix the bag and zip it all back up before I put it back on. Roll it up so it fits better. Breathe and stretch and rest for a moment so I can gather myself to keep going. It's a 50 mile hike and I'm probably 10 miles in on the journey. Not asking for the pack to be taken away, or the journey taken for me, just in need of a rest. Maybe some water. A chance to readjust would be nice.

But I can't rest. I can't even sleep. I can't even break down properly because I'd wake the children.

Sure does make me feel like running away. I don't have anywhere to go, and the guilt at leaving my children would be horrendous, so I couldn't ever do it. But the thought occupies my mind a lot, especially when I can't sleep.
"What would happen if I just ran away for a little while?"
 Would I finally be appreciated? Would my own health matter more? Would it be more than just words that I am loved? Of course, these thoughts/hopes are interrupted by my children and husband who need me so constantly. No, Emma, you made a commitment that you don't want to break.
I might just break instead.

Just.... So alone.
So many reasons why the few people I would talk to are not okay to call. Middle of the night, time difference, busy, have their own kids/husband to worry about, haven't talked in years;


I guess I'll just keep writing.