I am worn the fuck out. My period is doing a number on me this month: severe pain in the girly parts region, lower back, sides, etc. The bleeding… ugh, don’t even get me started. On Monday night I managed to bleed through two thick liners, a thick pad, my underwear, and my thick-fabric yoga pants. Yesterday I bled through a Diva Cup, a liner, a pad, my underwear and my jeans. I discovered this in the doctor’s office, of course, and then had to drive twelve miles back home, past all of my other destinations, to change before going back out to take care of my other necessary errands (dropping off paperwork with CPS, getting the oil changed in my car, picking up medicine at Target, etc.).
(On a related note, I finally saw a gastro specialist yesterday for my abdominal pain. She gave me prescriptions for Prilosec in case it’s an ulcer — I don’t think it is, as this type of pain doesn’t seem to be like ulcer pain from everything I’ve read about ulcers — as well as an anti-spasm medication to take the next time I get an attack. I’m also scheduled for both an endoscopy and a colonoscopy on October 27th. Both are being done at the same time, and I’ll be put out before the procedure. Lucky me.
Oh, and she also mentioned that my white blood count — blood was taken in August — is up. What does that mean?)
This morning I indulged in the rare luxury of going back to bed after I sent Alyssa and Ryan off to school. Usually once I’m up, I’m up, especially during the week, but this morning I was just so tired, and the weather was perfect for sleeping – dark, dreary, lightly raining – that I just couldn’t resist. I laid in bed until the UPS truck came by around 11, and even then I went back to bed, though I didn’t fall back asleep. But now I’m up, because my life is one big constant to-do list, and even as I sit here typing this, with my work-related tabs opened up in the background of this tab, there are still other things nagging at me, things I should be doing: folding the laundry in the dryer so I can get the wet stuff out of the washer before it mildews; whipping together the ingredients for brownies so there’s a decent dessert tonight; figuring out dinner in case I do decide to go with a crockpot meal, since I’d have to get it going now, etc.
The obvious solution that everyone suggests to me, and I even suggest to myself, is to enlist the four other able-bodied individuals in this household to help out more. Dan does when I ask, and sometimes he’ll take the initiative to do a load of laundry or make dinner, but he’s also busy with his work. Alyssa and Ryan do chores each day, and they both often volunteer to put Leah out or bring her in, and the other day Ryan surprised me by volunteering to put Alyssa’s clean clothes away after he put his away (I wash and fold their laundry, and even sort it into appropriate piles to make it quicker to put everything away, but I do ask the kids that they put their own things away), but they’re young children, and right now I think they’re still a little overwhelmed at suddenly going to school for eight hours a day. By the time they get home it’s close to 4:30pm, and with bedtime at 7:30pm, that doesn’t leave them a lot of time to unwind, read books (homework) or just play.
Then there’s my brother, Puff. At sixteen, with a bedtime at 10:00pm and an arrival time of 3:30pm (I find it so weird that the elementary school starts an hour later and thus ends an hour later than the middle school and high school), he’s most definitely an apt candidate for helping out with household chores, especially since he has a laptop, a cellphone, and a $40 monthly allowance. But, blame it on the autism or his upbringing or just his own laziness, Puff is not good with chores. A lot of the time it’s an uphill battle for me to get him to do stuff, and while it’s wrong of me to sometimes back down and just do it myself, it’s also sometimes mentally easier to just do whatever task it is than to ride him to get it done. But on the flip side, that was my mom’s method of things, and we all know how well that worked out. So 95% of the time, I do take on the mental battle of getting Puff to do chores, and to do them right. That’s another issue of his: he is so impatient that he just rushes through things, and more than half the time has to go back and do it again because he messed up or made a bigger mess the first time around. Such as been the case with vacuuming the carpets, sweeping the floor, doing the dishes, mowing the lawn, etc. But he is improving, and Dan and I are doing our best to rein in our frustration and provide positive reinforcement and general encouragement, so yeah.
I feel rather lonely right now. I know a lot of it is probably related to my period, combined with another attack of abdominal pain on Tuesday afternoon. The misery they both provide plus the drowsiness and zoning out the prescribed muscle relaxants and painkillers hit me with, and then this dreary weather we’ve had since Tuesday, I guess it isn’t too surprising that my overall mood has been affected. I’m trying to fight it, but it’s hard when marital/family issues arise to further complicate things and drain me of any perkiness and positivity I did have left. My reserves are depleted, yo.
Dan and I got into a big fight late Tuesday night. I don’t want to go into too many details, but I will say that what we fought about has been just under the surface for quite a while now (several months, possibly several years), and it all came to a head on Tuesday when I asked Dan, of all mundane things, to please come home and take Alyssa and Ryan to their Back To School Night at school that evening so I could take some pain relief medication, because the abdominal pain was getting worse, not better, and the 1/2 Vicodin I had taken that afternoon wasn’t enough. The issue we fought about aside, Dan seemingly has a lot of resentment, towards me, over any presumed loss of his “free” time (that is, time not spent at work or commuting to/from work). Dan swears that it’s mostly related to the issue we fought about, but this time/resentment issue has been ongoing for many years now — it’s just gotten worse recently — so I have my doubts.
At some point during our fight Dan lashed out at me about the fact that I did not even grow up with a father, so how am I supposed to know or have any realistic expectations of a father or of a husband who is also a father. That hurt, for multiple reasons. For one, it is possible to have knowledge and realistic expectations of something you yourself did not necessarily experience. And second, growing up without a father sucked. It sucked when I was a child, but in different ways than how it sucks now, as an adult who still doesn’t have a father.
(For those who don’t know: my parents separated when I was six, and divorced the following year. My father had and still has some mental issues, including depression, anxiety, and severe OCD. I had visitations with my father and phone calls, and he sent me birthday cards and holiday cards, but by the time I reached my teens his mental issues became worse, and we lost touch for several years. I found him back in 2004 and we have exchanged a few letters and phone calls a year since then, but now for the last two years my father is once again a recluse who won’t turn on his cellphone or write replies to any letters I send. Our relationship, at best, is casual. I recognize him as my father in the biological sense, but other than that there is no real father/daughter relationship. How could there be?)
A few other things came out, including assumptions and opinions of me from people Dan and I both know. Their judgments of my character and how I supposedly feel about Dan and treat him not only hurt, but were very offensive, because they are not true. And the fact that they voiced these opinions to Dan in such a manner that now he is questioning me himself (he swears he’s not, but from the things he has asked/said to me I have my doubts) is doubly hurtful. These two individuals know me better than that. At least, I thought they did. In any case, I am trying not to dwell on that too much, except that Dan hangs out with them at least once a week, and as I’ve apparently been one of their topics of discussion recently, I won’t be surprised if I come up again, and Dan comes home with more gems and pearls of “wisdom” to share with me.
With all of this going on, my number one priority is to FIX what’s wrong in our relationship, once and for all. And I can, at least when it comes to a lot of what we fought about. But I don’t know how to ease Dan’s seeming insecurities and questions about me, and I’m more than a little resentful over his resentment over his supposed loss of his “free time”. But it’s easier for me to deal with my own insecurities and resentment than to deal with his, if that makes sense. He thinks I’m overreacting, and maybe I am just a bit, but I told him the other night throughout our fight that I am done asking things of him, because clearly he can’t/doesn’t want to handle it, and I don’t want to keep burdening him, which I’m apparently doing. Whether it’s mowing the lawn or giving the kids a bath or picking up the eggs that I forgot to buy during a morning grocery run, I’ll take care of it all. He obviously needs all the time he can get to keep his shit together and be happy, and considering what we fought about, that’s the least I can do for him, for right now.
But then that is causing issues, because I also told him, and I meant it, that I don’t want sex to be a part of the equation. Despite growing up without a father and thus having the stereotypical daddy/daughter issues, I respect myself too damn much to give my body to someone who has told me on two separate occasions that a “small part” of him hates me. Yes, hate. His word, not mine. He swears now that he didn’t mean it, but I personally believe all words are meant, maybe not in their entirety, but they’re uttered on some grain of truth. Until that rift and those wounds are healed, I won’t let sex complicate things or cloud my judgment, or his for that matter. (Besides, with the attack of his seemingly crotch-eating fungal infection not showing any signs of going the hell away, it’s not as if sex anytime soon is a possibility anyway.)
On a somewhat related note, the gastro specialist I met with was the second medical professional in a month to ask me if I am taking anything or seeing anyone to help me deal with everything going on in my life (mainly the stuff with my mom and brothers, and Ryan’s autism and those issues). I laughed at both. Anti-depressants? Therapy? Do I really need those? I have my shit together. Why is that such a surprise? Should I not have my shit together? Or am I falling apart and just not seeing it?
I’m glad that weekend is almost here, because I am drained. The physical issues, the emotional ones, the damn stupid dreary weather… it’s all just too much for me this week.