I Got Nothing

Just don't know anymore. Is it that I am wading deeper and deeper into this muck and will soon be sucked under? Am I grieving? Am I weak? Selfish? (if you must respond, go with rhetorical. I am rather taut just now.) When did this pall fall so hard?

Like I said, I got nothing. Don't know. Am concerned.

Started crying last night just thinking how it was--before LRHF's dx, before Mom's decline, before dh's schedule made my days bottomless holes full of little boys who need me, but get--but get a me so tired, so freaking tired that I am either dumb or I am screaming.

"Every day hurts," I tell dh, "I dread every day."

There's no medicine for this shit. No SSRI combo will take away his schedule, our stress, my grief.

"Well, you still sound depressed," Doc says.

Yes. Yes, I am still depressed.

I cry. I scream. I have nightmares. I don't know how to do anything else. I ache. My bones are concrete. My nerves are spun glass. What color is joylessness?

Jesus, this is how it is. This is not a bad day, or a bad week, or a period of sadness and/or hopelessness lasting more than two weeks and please consult your doctor. This is it. I don't like this it, but no one has asked f0r my opinion. How did I get so tangled up and torn?

If I could say, "Oh, _________ will end...Oh, once ___________ happens, it will get better, Oh I just need to get past ___________," that would be a different kind of woe. This is woe without end. (amen).

"What would you change?" Dh asks.
"Nothing that can," I tell him.

Laundry piles up. People say that laundry isn't a big deal. Let me tell you right now, that it is a very big deal if no one has socks at 7 a.m. Shopping doesn't get done. "I will shop," Dh tells me. Sometimes he does. Sometimes. Dishes congeal. No one cares, people say. I care. I am here and it is my job and it still doesn't get done. None of it. This is the job I chose, and this is the job I would sooooo lose in any other sector. And it pisses me off that I can't get to anything anymore. Nothing necessary gets done and so nothing soothing gets done. No dirt. No quilt. No painting. No bread making. And I am always screaming in my head. Or at the children. Which is the greater sin? I got nothing.

I tell Dh that he and the kids deserve better. They do. Really fine people, all of them. And I am failing them.

"Go away for a week," Dh says. "Take a break."

And come back to...done stuff? I don't think so. I did not fall off the Mommy Truck yesterday and I have "taken breaks" before, and believe you me, you pay for those breaks with loan shark level interest. No thanks.

It's not like I had years of fairy-dancing in flowery meadows before all this, you must know that, right? My real job stressed me out. My heart got broken a few times. I got lonely.

But it wasn't like this. This frightens me. I want to turn away from all of it. All of it. Like Anne Sexton.

Please know that I won't. I would never. I have been one of the left-behinds. And also I am devilishly selfish about my children and husband. But I must say that I sort of understand the concept now.