I just threw the cat out of my carpeted room out into the hallway, in time for her barf on the floorboards there. That’s winning for you.
Now I’ve got to clean up the incredibly liquidy green mess she left behind while feeling grateful that I don’t have to soak it out of my carpet. As if my bedroom carpet wasn’t disgusting enough with all the stains left behind from old vomit puddles.
This is what my life feels like right now – an old carpet covered in vomit stains. I need someone to take a pressure cleaner to it and get rid of all the stains. The financial dread, the single parenting, the failing car, the dirty house, the overgrown garden, the fucked up brain. I have so had enough.
I’m not coping with the everyday. I spent all of yesterday in bed watching dog grooming videos on my kids’ old iPad. Yes, I should be grateful I even have an iPad, but I am beyond gratitude as a coping strategy.
I could have gone to the beach today, which probably might have helped, but my kid is home with a painful ingrown toenail and I’ve got to take him to the podiatrist in half an hour.
At least, it’s sunny. I don’t think I could have survived another miserable gloomy Ballarat winter’s day without a bottle of wine in me.
Alcohol makes me feel worse, I’ve figured that bit out by now, so I don’t drink a lot any more. Not that I ever did. Other people tried to tell me I did, but my inbuilt alcohol intake management mechanism (otherwise known as migraines and headaches) made sure that I only ever drank moderately. Now I drink socially, or a few sips of wine before dinner.
I’m so sick of carrying this burden on my own. Not having anyone to talk to. Not having anyone to care. Everyone else is too busy with their own lives to care about mine. In the end we’re all alone and we can only ever rely on ourselves. I’ve given up caring, too, except for my kids. I still make sure they are fed and clothed and their emotional needs and stresses are taken care of. I do the best I can.
But I can’t care about anyone else. My dad has acute leukemia, but after the initial shock about the news and the chemo and potential life expectancy, I realised I don’t care whether he lives or dies. My mum is shouldering all of the burden of his illness alone, with some support from my sister, she doesn’t want my help and that’s fine, I have nothing to give. They taught me to be emotionally self-sufficient and provided little emotional support throughout my life, so I mostly am. I break every now and again, but mostly I manage fine.
Right now I’m broken, but it will pass. I will find my balance again.
My life feels empty. There is little goodness or joy in it and I don’t know where to get it. Most of my joy used to come from family, the four of us, moments of all four of us having an excellent time, all together. Other moments came from travel, or dancing. I can’t afford travel and my body feels too stiff and heavy to move these days. And it’s sooooo cold!
I do have those moments of joy as a family of three, but they are few and far between these days. The teenagers spend most of their time in their rooms playing video games and aren’t that great at conversation at dinner time. Maybe I’m not, either. It’s hard to be a great conversationalist when the black dog is constantly at your heels.
But, some good news. Today I took my youngest to the podiatrist to deal with an ongoing ingrown toenail which was bothering him so much this morning that he couldn’t put a sock on. It cost money, but he got immediate relief and it felt like a parenting win.
Then, I took him out to lunch to celebrate, where I had a delicious glass of prosecco and afterwards we went bed shopping for him. Thanks to the Family Tax Benefit supplement which I got paid today, he will have a new, bigger, bed delivered in four weeks.
Also, for myself, I just bought the Figure 8 body fitness program, which I assume are DVDs and I don’t know how long they’ll take, but it will get me both moving and dancing again.
So, I am doing positive things to get myself out of this funk. I am seeing my psychologist tomorrow, which will help and I think I need to start journaling again, to stop the rumination in my head. I wish I was near the beach, which I know helps me enormously with my mood, but I don’t particularly want to drive for over an hour to get a dose of vitamin sea (isn’t that awful pun?)
I’m going to organise a cleaner to deal with the house and I’ve just emailed my lawn mower man to see if he can do my weeding.
I’m also in the process of getting an early withdrawal of my super funds to help me buy a newer car.
So, you see, I am dealing with the shitty things that comprise my life right now. Even when I’m in a dark hole, I function and fix things. This is what a high functioning depressive looks like. And yet, if you looked inside my head you would see nothing but blackness and despair.
Do you think it’s too much to ask for somebody to care about me? To care how I am? Because right now I don’t think anyone does and I don’t even know whether expecting for someone to care is normal.
I know I said above that I don’t care about other people right now, but normally, I do care. I do care when someone is having a hard time and I reach out to them. Not always, but when I feel able, I do. Maybe most people just don’t feel able. Maybe we are all drowning under unimaginable burdens and just can’t be there for each other. Maybe life is too hard for all of us.
Is life hard for you?