Those four tiny, innocuous little words turned out to be the final straw for me today. I was going to take a look back on what I’ve written the last few months to see if I could spot a pattern or warning signs, but honestly, I have neither the energy nor the inclination, and I think I already know that today was months in the making.
I had a session with Therapist after a two week break, and despite my best efforts, the walls were pretty firmly up again. I’ve spent most if not all of the last two weeks desperate to speak to her, but once again found myself barely able to look at her during the session. I cannot begin to describe how much that frustrates me, especially when I know chances are I’ll fall to pieces as soon as I leave the room. Perhaps not surprisingly, that’s exactly what happened today. The end of the hour caught me off guard. I’m usually pretty good at clock watching, but was in my own little world today, so when she said ‘we’re at the time’…………a punch to the stomach probably would have had less impact. I’m not sure that she saw my reaction, I more or less kept it together till I left the office, but then all of the angst and stress, and the overwhelming sense of abandonment and rejection that’s built up over the last two weeks, never mind the fact that she was (as I perceived it) kicking me out the door, came flooding out. Literally. I cried from one side of Galway to the other. Hubby had known it was going to be a tough session, so had texted to see if I wanted him to come home with me. I was ringing to say no, but as soon as he answered the phone I turned into a gibbering wreck. I made it back to the car, met him there, and proceeded to sob the whole way home.
He rang my folks, and between them they arranged that myself and the kids would go stay in Kildare for a few days. I’m barely functioning at the moment, and being solely responsible for the kids every afternoon this week would be more than I could handle. I fought this suggestion, I really did. I don’t want help, I don’t want people watching me, waiting to see how I’m going to react, feeling like they have to be on egg shells around me. I don’t want to accept how bad things have gotten. I realise how melodramatic this sounds, and it genuinely isn’t intended to, but I feel like the most monumental burden when I’m like this. We had a really full on few hours, between me going to pieces on the way home, and then trying to work out how we were going to manage, we’re both exhausted and completely emotionally drained. At this point Hubby needs a break from all this as much as I do. Therapist had asked if I needed to be in hospital. I don’t, I think, not yet, but if this were to continue much longer it would become a very real possibility.
Because you see there’s been other stuff going on, stuff I’ve not only neglected to mention, but outright lied about. Remember my post about impulse control? I stated quite categorically that I hadn’t been hurting myself. That right there, was a lie. I have been, almost daily, for a couple of weeks now. What I’ve been doing is immaterial, the fact is it’s been happening, and I’ve not only hidden it from you, I’ve hidden it from Hubby, my family, my friends…..everyone. I thought what I was doing was ok, which in itself should have been a blindingly bright flashing light that things were in fact very much not ok. I’ve completely lost perspective. It’s even seeped into work – I tried to persuade my boss today that lowering my performance review score was the right thing to do. He chose to politely ignore me. I’ve been doubting that my friends were actually my friends and have been getting increasingly paranoid and worried about what people think of me. I’ve more or less gone to ground.
I’m so, so tired. I can’t think straight, my eyes are burning from crying and I look like I’ve been punched in the head repeatedly. But I’m also starting to feel relieved. It’s taken a ridiculous, and totally unnecessary amount of effort to keep (semi) functioning this last few weeks, and the last few days have been pretty much unbearable for all of us. Something has to give. So today, when I finally spoke to Mam and she asked how I was doing, I didn’t say ‘fine’. I said ‘shite’. And I cried some more. Dad is coming over tomorrow to pick us up, and I’m going to try and let them look after us. I don’t want to be a burden (god I hate that word), or cause stress, or have people worrying about me, but trying not to has only ever made it worse. The last few weeks are a stunning case in point.
I’m really, really sorry for not being honest with you. I’m not proud of that, but I hope you can understand why I did it. Measures have been put in place with both Hubby and Therapist to try and stop it from happening again, and hopefully some headspace and rest the next few days will set me back on track. And for the record…..I haven’t hurt myself today.