I really hate my life at the moment. I finally admitted it to myself a few days ago. This is a very strange feeling for me, one I’m not at all familiar with. In the past whenever somebody asked me how I was, I would always reply with a big smile and an honest, meaningful, “fantastic.” That was exactly how I felt most of the time. Sure, there were bad times, and good times – some of them written here, other’s forgotten, or just deemed too run-of-the-mill to write about – but I always had this core sense of happiness that drove me onwards.
Even when Miki and I were going through our ‘Bad Times’, when we had no idea what was happening to us, I could count on my sense of self, my sense of being in the right place for me at the right time.
But not anymore! I’ve felt this way for a while now, but never admitted it to myself. I finally admitted it to myself. I even said it out loud a few times, just to confirm whether or not it was what I was feeling. It was.
Just getting out of bed in the morning requires every ounce of will power I can summon. I don’t want to get out of bed. I want to stay in bed for the whole day, maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks; maybe I’ll just stay in bed forever.
Everything is overwhelming. Everything I think about makes me anxious. Whether it’s Miki dying – I have this constant fear in the pit of my stomach that Miki is going to die – or the kids getting sick, or paying the bills, or going to the grocery store, it all terrifies me. All I want to do is hide away at home, and hold my kids, just hold them tight.
I tried to book a consultation with Dr. L last week for my anxiety and insomnia. I trust her, she’s really great to talk to, and since she knows our history, I figured she’d be in a perfect position to help me, personally. But she refused: Miki is her primary patient and she doesn’t see direct family members of patients. She did however have two names that she referred me to. But, I didn’t contact them. Firstly, I’ve bared my soul to too many medical professionals over the last three or four years. I won’t do it with someone else, again. Secondly, her refusal called into question my perspective. I’ve learnt over the years, particularly over the years of Miki’s therapy that there are some signs that you just shouldn’t ignore. Dr. L’s refusal to treat me rated as one of those signs. I was clearly looking at this from the wrong angle. I needed to review what I was really thinking, and what I was going to do about it. That led me to the realization that I hate my life. You can’t medicate that.
I told Miki via text how I felt one evening, while I was away in Johannesburg. I’m not sure what I was expecting from her, but I didn’t get any sympathy. I suppose I was hoping for some kind, motivational words from her, something along the lines of us working together, fixing it, getting through it together, as a family. I was hoping that she might return the strength that I’d shown her over the last few years in staying with her, through everything. Instead, she did what she usually does when I open up to her emotionally: she made it about herself. She turned it around completely, blamed herself, said everything was her fault, and that she felt terrible that she was causing me all this pain. She said she just couldn’t cope with me feeling this way and knowing it was all her fault. She was thinking about a separation; apparently, that was her solution to the problem. That’s another one of her knee-jerk reactions: run away when things get tough.
Sitting there at the airport that Thursday afternoon, waiting for my flight back to Cape Town, I had no idea what was waiting for me at home. Miki had arranged for both of us to see Simona together the next morning – that was proactive. But all her texts had been about separation, and decisions, etc. and she’d stopped answering my texts that morning.