Just like always…I can’t believe I expected things to be any different…a couple days into a flare (or as I usually call them my bad days) and I catch hell because things aren’t done around the house. I don’t remember signing up to be a maid (especially to him AND his brother). I told him that if he wanted to treat me like a simple roommate, then that’s what we were. He could wash his own clothes and do his own dishes (not like I eat with them anyway). That lasted about two days before dishes started accumulating in the sink again. For a while I said nothing and continued to load and unload the dishwasher. I took out the trash. I even folded his clothes because after two days of them sitting on top of the dryer it was obvious he wasn’t going to do it.
Like I said the other day, I have been having bad days since Sunday. Do I ask for them? NO! But hey, shit happens. So, after two doctors appointments and 45 minutes at the pharmacy, I got home exhausted. I was about to fall asleep as he got home. I slept until 8:45 when I hear him cussing in the kitchen because he’s having to load the dishwasher…and the food that I did leave in case he was absolutely starving…hasn’t been touched. I make the mistake of going into the kitchen and offering to help and getting the usual “well it should have already been done.” REALLY?
In order to half-way keep the peace, I say nothing else and let him continue with what he is doing. I’m not about to follow his lead straight into an argument in which I get insulted, cry, and then get told that I’m just being dramatic. Not this time….
…He just asked me -very nicely, mind you- if I wanted to eat. I told him I wasn’t hungry. He insisted so I forced down 3 fries to get him to leave me alone. I got up, said thank you, and started back to my room. He followed me in there to give me a big hug (which of course hurt). Do you see the roller-coaster of emotions he has that I have to deal with? I don’t know which way is up and which is down anymore. See why I dread him coming home? It’s no wonder I am about to loose my mind. I told my therapist today that I was on the brink of losing my mind…she said as long as it’s not lost yet we’re ok; as long as I have a little faith left I’m ok. I don’t feel ok. I feel like my strength is rapidly running out. The strength to deal with this damned illness, the strength to maintain emotional stability in a world with twists and turns at every angle.
And to be honest, I do worry about who will take care of me when he’s gone. Who will take me to appointments where someone has to promise to stay with me for 24 hours after I leave because I’ve had sedation for some procedure or other. I guess there’s really no point worrying about it now. Not because he’s going to miraculously change, but because I simply don’t have the strength to worry anymore. I will have to face each day and each challenge as it comes or I will lose what’s left of my mind.
Sorry guys…told you it wouldn’t be long before there was another rant.