Last night my husband and I argued. He was well intentioned. His input into my deteriorating mood included returning to the gym and working out to psychical exhaustion and increasing my anti depressant. The issue being I had to fight my tiredness to get to the gym.
I felt the dismay and disappointment immediately. Back to square one.
So that’s all I needed, a boxing bag and more drugs? Problem solved.
The isolation and loneliness coiled itself around me. No one would understand me. Not even the person who has lived it with me every year in every detail.
I explained tiredly and to be honest moodily that it wasn’t laziness that kept me from the gym. When I awoke in the morning I didn’t make a conscious decision not to get out of bed. I didn’t decide not to shower. I didn’t decide not to partake in normal life, usual routines. In the morning I was drained, exhausted. I had no idea what time/day it was. I hardly heard my husband take the kids to school – and they aren’t quiet kids. I lie dozing in bed. A weight is pushing me down. There feels no purpose, no reason to get up. When the sun breaks through, I have no desire to get up. I am not hungry so I don’t think about food. Why get dressed? Why shower? I’m in bed. Sleep is good. I’m so tired. So weak.
So even if I did get up for the gym, I know everyone would stare at me. In my rational head they wouldn’t give a rats arse. But to me I’d look alien, obviously not belonging. Id be clumsy. My anxiety might peak and I might have a panic attack in front of strangers. Then I could never go back. I’m scared. Why leave my comfort zone?
Sure, I’ll increase the anti depressants. Although the effects won’t be immediate, but will that stop the memories? The flashbacks? It’s the time of year. There isn’t much that can soften that blow.
So today, I DID get up, I DID shower and dress. I had a prearranged appointment with my waxing lady. I’d booked it back when I thought I was normal and I could handle it. I’ve seen this woman for years. The consummate professional. So there I was driving to a place I knew, and where I knew I’d get a park. Usually we chatter and catch up. This time I was quiet. I couldn’t muster the energy to fake normal. The lights were too bright, it was all too painful, too intimate. A procedure that I have done regularly became overwhelming and intrusive. Gradually the mask started slipping. I clutched the towel and sat up and faced her. The poor woman stared at me waiting. I know my mouth moved like a goldfish. I couldn’t find the words. Then the tears came. This poor woman looked nervously at me. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it or why I was saying anything at all. Eventually I mumbled something that she didn’t understand so I stated clearly what had happened then a big rush of tears (from me) and she said, when? I guess she assumed it was recent. I just said not recent but it was in this month that it had happened years ago so it’s an anniversary. I’m so sorry I feel I’m messing you around. And I really did feel I was messing her around. I also felt sorry for dumping it on her.
Being the consummate professional that she is she rubbed my arm, told me no problem and that she would see me at reception when I was dressed. When I paid for the service, she hugged me and said she’d see me next time. It was a clean end, no fussing or awkwardness. I still felt weak and like a bit of a shithead. I shouldn’t have gone to that appointment. I just like to feel clean and waxing helps me feel like that. It’s a personal thing of course.
So I’m back home. In bed.
Tomorrow is a holiday in New Zealand (Waitaingi Day) which means all the kids will be home from school, so a long weekend. I don’t know how that will pan out. I already feel like a useless mother avoiding everything and everyone at the moment.
If only I had the energy to punch a punchbag…..