Holy COW you guys! It is so hot here that I may melt. Literally.
While it would be nice if fat actually liquidated at a certain (achievable) outdoor temperature, I may have to stick to It's Too Damn Hot To Eat as my 'diet' plan instead of relying on good ol' Mister Sun to melt away my butt.
So, I feel better. I really do think that I have some level of cyclical depression. After feeling almost immobile last week, I woke up Saturday morning and cleaned the house so that I wouldn't have to come back from our overnight trip and walk into a mess. I was clear-headed and felt positive.
Other than the angst and exhaustion of having The Man gone for 3 days and 2 nights, I've continued to feel pretty good. My house is tidy. The Child and I kept our bickering to a bare (heat-induced) minimum. We managed to eat real, healthy food without outside assistance. Good times.
Now, if only I could figure out this whole job 'thing', I'd be riding high.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Snippets
The Man went to a mini-retreat over the weekend. I think that it was helpful to him, but not quite the epiphany he was hoping for.
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This week is his first long business trip since I found out. I feel a bit fragile. I have read the e-mails. I know what he would normally be doing. It's up to him to not only not contact strangers for sex, but to do the right thing because he wants to - not because he thinks he'll get in trouble.
Just like every other stage in this process, it's all up to him.
I love him and I hope that he is successful. I really hate that all I can do is sit and wait.
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This whole process is exhausting.
-------------
This week is his first long business trip since I found out. I feel a bit fragile. I have read the e-mails. I know what he would normally be doing. It's up to him to not only not contact strangers for sex, but to do the right thing because he wants to - not because he thinks he'll get in trouble.
Just like every other stage in this process, it's all up to him.
I love him and I hope that he is successful. I really hate that all I can do is sit and wait.
--------------
This whole process is exhausting.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Slogging Through
Ya'll, I think I'm depressed. Wait, scratch that - I know that I'm depressed, but I think that this bout might be a bit more serious that I originally thought.
I've battled depression since my twenties. I had episodes then when it was just too much work to get out of bed. I have since learned to control it better, and even to occasionally head it off. This one's a doozie, though. I have insomnia, but can't wake up in the morning. I have headaches and feel fuzzy-brained most of the time. My temper's on a hair-trigger. I just can't seem to get anything done.
I was attributing a lot of this to a combination of grief and PMS. While those are both valid concerns in my life, neither can completely explain the absolute mess of my house, the sink full of dirty dishes and the fact that I can't keep a thought in my head for more than 5 minutes.
I'm wildly disorganized right now. Me. The list maker. The planner. The over-scheduled whirlwind who can't say no. Well, I still can't say no, but I don't remember to do whatever it was, either. Yesterday, I agreed to do a massage for a friend. I told The Man about it when he got home. In the next 2 hours, I proceeded to forget about it no fewer than 3 times, and almost forgot to get up and leave not 5 minutes after The Man reminded me. Tonight, I glared at the mess in my home and thought 'it's a good thing that all I have to do tomorrow is sleep and maybe clean up while The Baby is at parent's day out... hey, maybe our friends will want to go swimming tomorrow afternoon...' In actuality, I have a completely full day tomorrow. No time for sleeping. No time for afternoon swimming.
Then there's the crying. I keep crying. Sappy moments on t.v. Poorly written paperbacks. Lying next to The Baby for two minutes while she drifts back to sleep. I'm like a faucet over here! Of course, the crying makes the headaches worse. Yay.
I'm not sure what to do about this, folks. I'm not convinced that I can snap out of this one by speaking sternly with myself or forcing myself out of the house. Other than counseling (with a therapist; not a doctor who can prescribe the big guns), I've never sought professional help for depression before. I don't even know who to call. Then there's co-pays and prescriptions. We can't afford this stuff right now!
Oi. I really wish I could sleep.
I've battled depression since my twenties. I had episodes then when it was just too much work to get out of bed. I have since learned to control it better, and even to occasionally head it off. This one's a doozie, though. I have insomnia, but can't wake up in the morning. I have headaches and feel fuzzy-brained most of the time. My temper's on a hair-trigger. I just can't seem to get anything done.
I was attributing a lot of this to a combination of grief and PMS. While those are both valid concerns in my life, neither can completely explain the absolute mess of my house, the sink full of dirty dishes and the fact that I can't keep a thought in my head for more than 5 minutes.
I'm wildly disorganized right now. Me. The list maker. The planner. The over-scheduled whirlwind who can't say no. Well, I still can't say no, but I don't remember to do whatever it was, either. Yesterday, I agreed to do a massage for a friend. I told The Man about it when he got home. In the next 2 hours, I proceeded to forget about it no fewer than 3 times, and almost forgot to get up and leave not 5 minutes after The Man reminded me. Tonight, I glared at the mess in my home and thought 'it's a good thing that all I have to do tomorrow is sleep and maybe clean up while The Baby is at parent's day out... hey, maybe our friends will want to go swimming tomorrow afternoon...' In actuality, I have a completely full day tomorrow. No time for sleeping. No time for afternoon swimming.
Then there's the crying. I keep crying. Sappy moments on t.v. Poorly written paperbacks. Lying next to The Baby for two minutes while she drifts back to sleep. I'm like a faucet over here! Of course, the crying makes the headaches worse. Yay.
I'm not sure what to do about this, folks. I'm not convinced that I can snap out of this one by speaking sternly with myself or forcing myself out of the house. Other than counseling (with a therapist; not a doctor who can prescribe the big guns), I've never sought professional help for depression before. I don't even know who to call. Then there's co-pays and prescriptions. We can't afford this stuff right now!
Oi. I really wish I could sleep.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Mired or Just Tired?
Today is a weird day. It's the first day of my first period since the miscarriage. While I welcome the renewal that this brings to my body and I am thankful for the sign that my poor system is recovering, it still sucks.
I have been dealt a whopper of a case of PMS this go-round, and I have happily flung it around like monkey poo. Let me tell you - it's been just about as welcome as flung poop. Wildly moody, completely irrational, greasily acne-covered, bloated... the list goes on and on.
Oh, don't let me forget to add 'Itchin' For A Fight', because that's exactly where I am right now. Last weekend, I sniped, snipped and griped at The Man until we (ummmm, me) had a full-blown meltdown. This one was a heartbreaking melange of my deepest fears and most volcanic rages. I spewed forth a diatribe that started with 'I HATE that you have an addiction that involves sex. Now every time you turn me down, all I can see is the list of people that you practically begged for sex.' It continued on with 'I've sublimated what I want sexually for 18 years and now I find out that you're giving it away to every whore on the internet with a digital camera. I see. So it's not that you don't want sex, it's just that you don't want it with me.' I even ended it with a rousing round of 'well, maybe it's time that we both find people who are more interested in meeting our needs.' It would seem that I have a bit of truly poisonous anger lurking just beneath my surface.
The man doesn't even know how to begin to respond to all of this. He's so busy trying to make his life look the way that he thinks it should. He's the one tap dancing now. I'm the one raving about how I feel and how hard this is for me. He's doing his steps and going to his meetings and presenting the front of 'I've got this. It's easy-peasy.'
I wish that in this, he could just be a little bit less male. I wish that he could say 'I had a hard day. I thought about acting out' or 'the step I'm working on makes me feel like a complete asshole'... but he doesn't say those things, and I am left feeling like an overbearing lunatic who wears her heart on her forehead and airs her dirty laundry on the internet.
I just don't know, ya'll. I don't want to give up on The Man or our marriage. I do know that I'm tired of feeling like this. I know that I'm tired of worrying that the worst is yet to come. I say that I want to move forward. I complain that I don't know how. I seem to be living out the definition of insanity.
I have been dealt a whopper of a case of PMS this go-round, and I have happily flung it around like monkey poo. Let me tell you - it's been just about as welcome as flung poop. Wildly moody, completely irrational, greasily acne-covered, bloated... the list goes on and on.
Oh, don't let me forget to add 'Itchin' For A Fight', because that's exactly where I am right now. Last weekend, I sniped, snipped and griped at The Man until we (ummmm, me) had a full-blown meltdown. This one was a heartbreaking melange of my deepest fears and most volcanic rages. I spewed forth a diatribe that started with 'I HATE that you have an addiction that involves sex. Now every time you turn me down, all I can see is the list of people that you practically begged for sex.' It continued on with 'I've sublimated what I want sexually for 18 years and now I find out that you're giving it away to every whore on the internet with a digital camera. I see. So it's not that you don't want sex, it's just that you don't want it with me.' I even ended it with a rousing round of 'well, maybe it's time that we both find people who are more interested in meeting our needs.' It would seem that I have a bit of truly poisonous anger lurking just beneath my surface.
The man doesn't even know how to begin to respond to all of this. He's so busy trying to make his life look the way that he thinks it should. He's the one tap dancing now. I'm the one raving about how I feel and how hard this is for me. He's doing his steps and going to his meetings and presenting the front of 'I've got this. It's easy-peasy.'
I wish that in this, he could just be a little bit less male. I wish that he could say 'I had a hard day. I thought about acting out' or 'the step I'm working on makes me feel like a complete asshole'... but he doesn't say those things, and I am left feeling like an overbearing lunatic who wears her heart on her forehead and airs her dirty laundry on the internet.
I just don't know, ya'll. I don't want to give up on The Man or our marriage. I do know that I'm tired of feeling like this. I know that I'm tired of worrying that the worst is yet to come. I say that I want to move forward. I complain that I don't know how. I seem to be living out the definition of insanity.
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