I made it home after 11pm last night. S was running late, so I was curled up with my son in his and Egg’s room hanging out with them. I was extremely emotional. A part of me wanted to spend another night to be with the kids in the morning, but another part couldn’t face a night on the floor in the office. After enjoying the house for nearly 2 weeks, going back to the status quo seemed impossible. I wasn’t ready to become ‘the guest’ again.
S arrived back and immediately set about wiping down the kitchen surfaces, opening blinds (that I assume one of the kids closed) and complaining about the carpet, the garage and the heater being on. To say I felt completely useless is an understatement. I felt not only like an overstayer but a rude, incompetent, messy one too. S had already said he wanted H to stay the night at his house, although he’d expressed his desire to come to mine. I was able to negotiate with my son to stay with S, although it pained me to do so. By this stage it was getting later and S complained about the time. Now I felt hurried to get my stuff and leave. Maybe S didn’t mean to make me feel the way I did, maybe I was reading too much into it. But I was tired, wrought with emotion and I just felt crap.
I drove away from the house in gut wrenching sobs, got down to the traffic lights and threw up, I managed to get the car door open in time. I was overcome physically and emotionally by the terse communication between S and I and the deep sorrow at leaving the kids.
This morning I’ve returned to the house because my two older daughters are unwell. And I need to look after them. I almost didn’t want to come back. Psychologically it’s too confusing. I’d noticed last night in my hurry to leave the house some clothes were missing from my bag. Arriving this morning I noticed them strewn across the drive. S would have seen them this morning when he left. But not bothered to collect them. Discarded, not cared for, no value, left to weather in the ailments, the clothes a metaphor for his opinion of me.
The girls are still asleep. So I’m curled up on the sofa, redundant. I’m so tired, I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. The oppressive depression seemed to be pushing me down, unrelenting in its desire to overtake me.
I feel partially numb and nausea crawls around my guts threateningly.
It struck me again last night how happy and confident S is. A new career, so much promise for the future. And here I am, lost my way, throwing up in the middle of the night on road back to my place.
Just when I think I’m making progress I take 10 steps back.