I made it through Easter with a smile and grace on the outside. On the inside, I can barely breathe. While I’ve said this to no one, I honestly don’t know how much more I can handle. I feel like I dug a huge pit in the sand and voluntarily jumped in. I then set up house and literally waited until it started collapsing around me. Here I am, slowly being buried, and each time I think I’ve gotten far enough out that I might free myself, a new shower of sand pulls me down. I’m exhausted.
There are specifics, although I’m not sure they matter, because the overall picture feels too bleak to overcome. The newest issues include:
- at least 100 wasp/yellow jacket bee nests in my front yard. Kid you not. Email me and I’ll send you a pic.
- A house that smells like raw sewage every time I do the wash. &, a washer that only works on the programmable rinse cycle. How does that happen?
- A house no one wants to buy, even without knowing about the yard infestation and sewage issues.
- The growing realization that even when I do sell this house there is absolutely no way I can afford a townhouse in my school district, so I’ll most likely have to buy a single, where I get to deal with this bullshit all over again.
- An ex who still doesn’t give a shit, because he’s happily ensconced with his new GF in her 4 bedroom, 2.5 colonial, going away on weekends and partying it up. (The good news is that my youngest did tell me the other day “dad thinks he’s the victim? Clearly, he’s not the victim”. Go me – everyone now knows I’m the victim)
- I have a really strong suspicion my cancer is back. In addition to the 10 pounds I just gained in my belly, I have an odd growth that is not infectious and might be a Sister Mary Joseph nodule. If you don’t know – this is bad. Worse yet, my dog is stalking me. She runs up and down the stairs, following me, just like she did before my 1st diagnosis. I see my oncologist on Tuesday but if you have dealt with health issues you know – the 1st step means nothing. Well, not nothing, just lots of waiting.
And here is how crazy I am – I’m hoping the cancer is back, because then someone else (i.e. ex??) will have to sell this damed house!
Am I just a baby? I am so tired of feeling helpless, and out of control, and at the mercies of ……. mercies of what?
This is what I don’t understand: why are there days, weeks even, during which no matter what happens I feel positive, like all will work out, like regardless of what happens I’ll handle it and it will be for the best. Then suddenly, I can’t breathe. Suddenly I want to stay in bed for a week. Suddenly the only thing that gets me out of bed is my children on Easter, or my job, or my dog who needs a walk.
This feeling is like switch. Last week I went from flirting with my realtor (young guy, cute, fun to mess with) to telling him “yeah, open house is over, time to go”. This is no exaggeration. On Thursday we were talking about what areas I would like to buy, and he told me he was going to present me as a “hot buyer” which I, a creepy old lady, turned into a “thing”. I said “Awww….you think I”m hot?” and we had a back and forth joking thing. Three days later, after an open house, he’s telling me he looked through my old yearbooks and I looked great, and all I could think was “get the fuck out of my house. I’m too tired for this”.
Then the icing on the cake: My parents are flying a bunch of us to Naples FL for my parents 60th anniversary. They’ve made a big deal talking about how we’ll be staying at the Ritz. I, delusionally, assumed I’ll be rooming with my youngest son. Tonight I found out this is not the case. I’m rooming with my crazy, fucking Aunt. You know the one? The one it doesn’t matter what you say, her response will be “don’t you believe in GOD? We need to talk about God! You aren’t pro-life are you”, etc., etc.
I put myself through graduate school, working a full time and part time job, for this?
Does this mean I’m manic depressive? I certainly feel like it.
What is the difference between manic depressive and fucking exhausted? Is there a difference between full blown mental illness and despair? Fear? Despondance?
I suppose I should know these answers, but I don’t. And, when I get to feeling this way, I can’t help believing that everything my ex told me was true. I’m an over-reactive, too sensitive, crazy bitch.