What an unbelievably complicated year it’s been.
On April 1st, my husband will have been off work for 11 months. 11 months of stress and worry, about both his health (physical and emotional) and our finances. I’ve tried so hard to be a steady, strong, upbeat wife, and for some reason this last month has been the hardest on me.
I just feel sad. I think maybe it’s exhaustion that’s manifesting as sadness? My husband has been through so much. He’s had part of his body amputated, now lives in fear he’ll lose his other foot, and I can’t imagine the toll that has taken on his mentality. He’s been so strong for so long, but his ability to hide his pain has gotten harder for him and I want to be his shelter. I want to be there for him when he’s down, but I feel like I’ve been doing it for so long that now I’m finding it harder to maintain.
I have a constant lump in my stomach, and I can’t shake it. It’s like, if I think too much about it, that lump will turn into tears. It’s already happened twice, uncontrollably, and it frightens my daughter and makes my husband feel like he shouldn’t share with me. I’ve never wanted either of them to feel those emotions. I’m so tired of watching my family flounder, of seeing how affected my daughter is by our family troubles, and of watching my husband struggle with mounting depression. I’m really really tired of wondering how we’re going to juggle our bills every month.
Sometimes I wonder what life would look like right now if I hadn’t miscarried. How much harder would it be if I had a six month old baby, in addition to everything else. The idea that a part of me is glad I didn’t give birth, and has given up on having another baby, makes me even sadder.
What a horrible thing to think, right?
We have such an exceptional family who has been there at every turn to help us, and somehow I still feel bitter and resentful. That’s not who I am, and I don’t like looking at myself that way. So, I’ve turned off my Facebook account, because if I can’t control my emotions, I sure can control what stimulates my negativity and choose to shut it down. I would never begrudge anyone success, or their complaints. Nobody’s life is perfect, but we should all be happy. I’m just really ready for our life to get back on track, and I need to not compare.
However, underneath all my melancholy, I think I’ve learned just how deeply reading supports my psyche. See, the struggle of my husband’s diabetic ulcers has been ongoing for nearly two years now and I’ve only really started feeling heavy and brittle over the last month. I can’t help but feel like it corresponds with my inability to read anything. It’s taking me weeks to get through a book that should take no more than a few days. It’s not because I’m savoring, it’s because my brain is too fried to read. Apparently I need fiction in my life to balance my reality, and without it I fall apart.
I have fallen apart.
Yesterday I missed work. I called in sick. I was not physically sick. I was emotionally sick. I needed one day to sit in my pajamas and wallow in a book. I actually finished one, and it felt SO good. I wrote two blog posts, and it felt SO good! I’m writing this right now, I checked NetGalley, I updated my currently reading, put a new book on my calendar, and I felt so much more like myself than I have in weeks.
I don’t know it’s the cure for what ails me. I don’t know that I can maintain the blog, and reading, and my current living world right now, but I certainly believe I now know what’s missing that keeps me whole. I know what my personal goal is. When I can get back here to read and write with as much vigor as I could previously…
That’s when everything will be alright again.