My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Look Back in Anger

This has been kind of a bad week, though not for any particular reason (apart from the fucking speeding ticket I got yesterday; Iím still so pissed about this that I cannot speak of it. I havenít even told my husband about it. I swear, there is simply not enough crime in this county to keep the cops busy on REAL police work so they waste my tax dollars pulling over otherwise-law abiding citizens doing no harm to anyone.), other than the usual things in my life that make me sad and just build and build and build. And the shitty weather most certainly didnít help matters. So, I finally broke down (literally and figuratively) and did something Iíve been telling myself to do forÖ..ohÖ..months now.

I made an appointment to see a counselor. A licensed social worker, to be exact. I just really need to seek a neutral, third-party opinion on why I canít handle all this shit anymore. So, what seems to be the problem, Ms. FreshHell?

Let me count the ways:
1. Iím tired. My god, Iíve never been this exhausted in my life for this long. I have not had a decent night of sleep (meaning more than 4 hours of sleep in a row) in over a year (the last few weeks of pregnancy were too uncomfortable to sleep in any position but sitting up). Thanks, Red. This is all your fault. There are really few worse things than long-term sleep deprivation. Take my word for it.

2. Iím sad. And lonely. For any number of reasons. I have no friends. Those few friends I do have either live far away and/or have kids of their own and have no time to do things. Like me. Plus, I live really far away from town and no one ever seems willing to come out and visit. Believe me, Iíve tried. Thereís always some good reason Ė their kidís sick, my kidís sick, blah, blah. As much of an introvert as I am, I think I'm seeking some kind of parent community that I'm not finding out here in nowheresville. A community of parents with my values: vegetarianism/natural food-eating, baby-wearing, granola-crunching moms. Not soccer/SUV/cell phone moms.

I have no ďfreeĒ time Ė time to just sit and do nothing or sit and read a book or write (though Iíve been working, finally, on fixing this last one. Iím now starting to write again. So thatís good, right?). I donít even have time to do things like clip my nails (I do them in the car now Ė donít tell that cop, okay? Heíll probably send me another goddamn ticket), iron clothes (which severely limits whatís available to wear in my already limited wardrobe. Remember how I mentioned losing 30 pounds by merely breastfeeding and going insane? Yeah, nothing fits anymore and I canít afford to replace my wardrobe. This also makes me sad. But, since I donít have time to shop, I canít complain. Oh, thatís right, I already AM!)Ö..where was I? Oh yes, my litany of complaints.

3. I ache. All over. My head, my neck, my shoulders, my severely-crippled-by-carpal-tunnel-syndrome wrists and elbows, my toes. I tried to call the massage therapist yesterday to schedule an emergency appointment but THE OFFICE IS CLOSED ON THURSDAYS AND FRIDAYS. What the fuck? How are you running a business if youíre never open??!! Why are you unavailable when I need you? (Ah! Here's the crux of the problem!)

4. Iím angry. (If you havenít noticed by now.) This is merely how my depression manifests itself. Anger and avoidance. Some days, I barely say a word to my husband nor do I look him in the eye because I'm pissed off at everything he says and does (or doesnít do) and heís actually one of the good guys.

He is a good father, looks after the kids, has sole care of Red two days a week, does the dishes, takes the trash to the dump, etc. But, nothing irritates me more than watching him blissfully take a nap on a Sunday while Iím scurrying around doing the laundry in hopes Iíll get to take one, too (see #1) before Red wakes up from hers, but when the dryerís done, does he get his ass up and take stuff out? No. He ignores it. Because he can? Because he knows Iíll do it? Because heís clueless and canít just help out without being asked? I cannot rest if I know thereís a dryer full of clothes getting all wrinkled and a washer full of clothes waiting their turn. I can smell the mildew setting in already. So, is this my problem or his? Should I, too, just ignore everything around me? I donít know anymore. Iíve lost all perspective.

I mean, why, if Iím doing all the ďrightĒ things, if life is not that bad (decent job, great kids, good marriage Ė I think, no huge debts, no really bad habits or risk-taking behaviors), do I feel like I do? Obviously, thereís a problem and I need to figure out what it is and how to solve it.

The bright side is that Red is getting older (oh my god sheís almost a year old!!) and the breastfeeding (at least at its current rate) is s-l-o-w-l-y coming to an end and sheíll start to sleep better (right? She will, wonít she?), and Iíll be able to leave the house for hours at a time without having to take the breast pump along and figure out how and where Iím going to pump.

So, Iíve got an appointment for June 13 Ė which, short term doesnít really help me RIGHT THIS MINUTE Ė and weíll see what happens. I hope we can do it in six hours because thatís what insurance covers and I canít pay full price for this. (Maybe she can help me with my sudden overuse of parentheses! Clearly, this is a cry for help.)

In the meantime, Iím going to spend the weekend re-doing Dustyís closet, writing a few more pages of the novel, enjoying three days off in a row. If Iím not driven insane by my mere existence on this planet.

At least thereís beer in the fridge. Sigh.


2:21 p.m. ::
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