Thirty-Three

Today I am trying to fight the good fight, to battle against the depression and anxiety and loneliness, to wage my war against myself. My melancholy continues, but instead of allowing it to wash over me and drag me out to sea with every wave, I am hoping to dig my feet into the sand and hold steady. I have so much good going on in my life, at a time when many Americans are drowning in despair and uncertainty and poverty. I am trying to focus on all the positives, instead of dwelling on the negatives. I have so much, I must ignore what I feel- rightly or wrongly- that I don't have. Instead of complaining about not spending enough time with A, I should feel grateful that my husband- unlike many others- has a wonderful, well-paying, stable job he goes off to every day- a job that he not only likes, but enjoys. His job, those long hours when he is gone, allows us to have a worry-free existence. When he is not here, I should stop counting the hours I am alone and instead be genuinely happy that he is not here sitting around the house with me, either unemployed or disabled or ill. It has been days upon days without the sun shining on me, literally. We have been covered in thick clouds for it seems several weeks now here, no rain, just dark swirling humid clouds that cover the sky but bring no much-needed rain. Add that to the heavy dark wood blinds that keep our windows covered- and the AC bill down- and I have spent days on end in heavy gloom. I turn on every light and lamp in the house, even light candles, but the small circles of artificial light seem even more depressing and only seem to illuminate my sadness. And still the air outside is heavy, oppressive, muggy, almost like a living thing that holds me down with its damp weight. I know autumn is on its way, and with it, relief from the summer season that I have come to despise all my life. I look forward to cool breezes and bright blue skies, colorful fall leaves and apples and local festivals. Summer has long been my enemy, and this year has been the worst of them in all my 40+ years. I count the days until the seasons change, hoping that my mood with shift with the falling temperatures. Many people suffer their depression in the winter, when they stay huddled up inside, the sunshine of the shorter daylight hours eluding them. Summer has, for me, always been a time to withdraw from the world outside, where I stay as close to a fan or AC vent as possible, where I remain still so that I don't sweat, don't feel hot and sticky and gross. I've always hated summer, even though being a southerner, I have spent decades in the heat, the choking humidity that makes hair damp and clothes cling wetly and zaps energy from my body and my brain. Summer is not a friend to the chubby. But winter is my favorite time of the year, when my energy returns, and I throw back the curtains and go outside. I long for it this year, whether or not my situation has changed. Whether or not I'm employed again. Today I raised all the blinds on all the windows in the house, and even though there is no sun shining outside, it has still made this house feel less like my cage and more like my sanctuary. Last night and this morning, I have been sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch and instead of feeling so alone on this dead end street out in the middle of nowhere, I tried to find peace of mind and a calmness, taking in all the silence. I can sit for hours, and not see one other person walk by or a car drive down my street. I see no neighbors in their yards- the stay at home mommies on my block are deep inside their own caves. I see only the tall growth of brush in the empty lots across the street, swaying with whatever wind is blowing, and I am suddenly glad there is nothing but quiet woods across the street from me. I hear nothing but crows cawing, bugs chirping, frogs calling, squirrels rusting in trees and bushes, hear the chatter of chickadees. There are no traffic noises, no human voices, only the occasional hum of our AC unit kicking on. Instead of wallowing in the self-pity of isolation, I am embracing the lack of man-made clatter and taking in the sounds of nature. How lucky I am to not deal with the echo of gunshots, the screams of fighting neighbors, the shrills of police sirens or ambulances, the earth-thumping stereos of passing cars. I know they are out there, somewhere, but miles and miles away from me, deeply entrenched here in the solitude of the rolling green hills and thick forests and small family farms. Nine months now I have been without a job to go to, left alone here in this big, empty tomb of a house. Long enough to have carried a child and given birth. Instead I have been carrying around pain and loneliness, pregnant with anger and bewilderment at my new surroundings, feeling almost betrayed and abandoned, when all A did was take a new job to secure our future. But I don't want to give life to those feelings anymore. Feeling this way has been a burden for me, a burden that sometimes overwhelms me to the point that A has to pick me up and set me back on my own two feet. It is time, overdue, to cast off this ridiculous cloak of depression I have disguised myself with lately. A disguise that is so great, I can't even recognize myself on most days. Where is the old me? It is time for her to come out of the shadows and back into the light.

Twenty-Seven

The weight of the endless days spent alone are starting to crush me again. I do well on the weekends when A is home, and we're together, and I have a purpose for being alive and out of bed and dressed. I have energy and goals and I am happy when he is with me. During the week, while I sit in the house for a mind-numbing 12-14 solitary hours, I feel cursed. Why do people wish they could stay at home all day long? I don't get that. It sucks, and daytime TV is worse than death. I've been through this before, when I was married to X and I wasn't working, and he worked on the road all week long. Then it was days and nights alone, week after week. I was in a new and strange city then, stuck in a small apartment with a very large and very needy dog. At the time, I was in my twenties and a very very different person, very meek with NO self-confidence at all. I was even petrified to drive anywhere because I didn't know where I was going in the unfamiliar town, so I stayed huddled up inside the apartment for months on end. I am not that person anymore, at least I'm not afraid of jumping in my car and just driving to wherever, I'm not afraid to turn down a wrong street or take a new road. Even if I am not going to any place in particular. But the only things I ever do when I leave the house are go shopping or go eat, and I don't need to do either. So I stay here at the house, wandering around like an empty shell waiting for A to come home and fill me up and bring me back to life. I am supposed to be at yoga right now, the classes that A is paying for me to take so I can start to feel better and have a reason to get out of the house. But I don't feel like it today, at least mentally. But I will probably lie to him and tell him I went to class, to make himself feel better about leaving me alone for so long every day. I've been with A for almost seven years now, and we used to work together for all of those years except for the last few months since we moved. I know how busy he is at work, and he made it perfectly clear to me in the beginning that he was dedicated to his career and that I had to accept that about him if I wanted to share his life. On the surface, I do, and I never complain when he has to work late or go in on the weekend, or take phone calls while we're eating dinner or on vacation, or when he has to go out of town for a whole week on business- rare, but it's happened a handful of times during our marriage. One night this week he got a call from work, the fire alarm was going off in the warehouse, right as I was putting dinner on the table. He said to start without him, he had to make a few calls, to handle the situation. I sat and ate alone while he was in his home office, and I was done eating and in the living room watching TV, before he ever got back to the table. That was like a hot knife in my heart, to sit there and eat dinner all alone, but I have to be a supportive spouse and accept moments like that. I try to see how fortunate we are, that he has a stable career and makes enough money so that I am not forced to take just any job I can find in order for us to survive. I am not forced to take any job at all. I am trying to find the good in all of this time I have on my hands, but all I can see is my loneliness and isolation here on this quiet dead end street out in the country. Every day I wake up and say I will do better, I will find something to go and do for the day, I will spend the day down in the basement sorting through unpacked boxes, I will go up to my studio and paint. I will stick to my diet, I will exercise, I will clean the house, I will call my parents or old friends. And after breakfast is finished and A leaves for work, I slump like a big fat dog turd at the table and the self-pity sets in. I don't know why, I don't know where it comes from, and I am sick as hell of feeling this way. I live a charmed life- no job, no children, no bills, no worries- and I am free to pursue whatever it is I would like. But by myself. Does it really matter if I am just sitting at home, or out roaming the city streets, if I am alone either way? Would it help to wander the aisles at Barnes & Noble or Target, if I am by myself? Am I not just as lonely, even out in public? Sometimes writing this blog helps me, when I can pound out my frustrations on the keyboard and let it all out. Sometimes writing here makes me feel even worse, because I read over all my faults and flaws and ridiculous whining when I have no reason to whine. No reason! But I do it nonetheless.

Twenty-Four

I am so very sad today, for many reasons. The weather- it's dark and blustery and raining out. My husband- he is home so little that I actually talk to my chiropractor more often than A. Life- today a bird got trapped inside our garage, and it died of terror and exhaustion, and I haven't stopped crying about it all day. Isolation- my only connection to the outside world is through emails and Facebook and my other blog. A is too busy to talk to me during the day, if he does call me it is a real treat but very short, because he's always so terribly busy at work. He still likes to check in on me, though, to see how I'm feeling, but sometimes I am just stumped for something to say to him. Imagine that, a wife who can't think of anything to say to her own husband. Not like I'm 12 and this is the cute boy from school I have a crush on, and I'm tongue-tied. This is my main man, my heart, my everything, the man I have slept beside for six years now. But I am just like, yeah, okay, whatever, when we talk. Probably why he doesn't call every day. Probably why sometimes he just reads the paper in the morning at breakfast, because I don't have anything to say. I know he would listen, as he always does when I need to talk, when I need to pour my heart and my thoughts out to him. Isolation sucks, and moving to a new city isn't as easy as just going somewhere and starting up a conversation with a stranger, and suddenly pledging our undying sisterhood and loyalty to each other. Yesterday in line at a fast food place, the lady who walked in with me talked on end about the beautiful flowers planted out front. Nice chat, but I am not going to be making friends with an elderly black lady at the Chick-Fil-A over advice on planting perennials. I was polite, and thanked her for her advice, and moved on. I've always had good friends, although I don't know why people even like me. But I've also always had a job, and had 40 hours a week to connect with people. When we moved in January, I left behind super wonderful girlfriends whom I adored, and who loved me back. I have a twisted sense of humor, and I am blunt and honest, and I don't take bullshit from people and I also don't dish it out. I am not a typical girly-girl, as far as gossip and margaritas and skirts and manicures and the tanning booth. That's not me. So the women I've been friends with over the years, were ones who accepted me for who I really was, and who appreciated me for it. I've always been an oddball, and I don't care, I even enjoy the fact that I am not a bloated, boring, superficial soccer mom. So, my friends have always been the non-mainstream type. One of the good friends I left behind had been divorced well over twenty years, and likes it that way. My other good friend was as sensitive as I was crass, but we seemed to all three balance things out when we were around each other. They email, they call, they invite me to come back and visit. But it's not the same. I miss seeing faces, hearing voices, even a light touch on the arm while talking over coffee, five mornings a week and sometimes at dinner out. I know whenever I go back to work, I will make friends. At least I hope so. Everywhere I've worked, I've made at least 1-2 good girlfriends. At least at the jobs where I stayed for awhile. I was at my last job for 8 years, and I was on top of the totem pole, and one of the boss' favorites. Everyone loved me, everyone respected me, everyone depended on me, everyone looked at me for answers. It was a hard thing to give up, I would have worked there until retirement, if I could have- I had finally finally found the place I belonged and the place I loved to be. But I gave it all up because I love A more than I loved that job. He pays the bills, with his six figures, not me with my measly hourly wage. How could I tell him not to accept the big promotion in favor of me keeping my lowly office job? A depends on me too, but the things he needs from me- cleaning the house, picking up his dry cleaning, running to the bank, cooking dinner- are not things I really want to be doing for even myself, much less for the two of us. I swear to all that's holy, if I was a richer woman I would hire a personal assistant to do all that shit, that mundane but necessary crap that is required by life. A may not have made good new friends since we've moved, but he actually lived in this town once before, back in the late 1980's, so he still has friends here from back then and they get together. Guy friends, no room for the little wifey, although he invites me occasionally (I politely decline). I don't think A realizes the depths of my loneliness, the pining that I have for my old friends, and my desire to make new friends. I tried once going shopping and to lunch with his boss' wife, but she was a dull, bleached, young, skinny mom and I had absolutely nothing in common with her. It was painful to make conversation, and that was months ago and she's never called me again. Guess it was painful for her, too. I don't need to go back to work for the money, although extra income is always nice, but I need it more to socialize than anything else. But with the economy, and this little country bumpkin town, my choices are limited. And I don't want to drive 40 minutes to the "big city". A has forbid me from working a retail job, because he wants me at home at night and on weekends, our only time together. He said what little bit of money I would make, wouldn't be worth us losing our few precious hours that we have with each other every week. And we do seem to go out of town almost every weekend, and Wal-Mart is probably not going to let me have every Friday night and every weekend off. So. I sit at home, friendless, quiet, watching the clock and counting the hours, the minutes, until A gets home. Some nights it's six, some nights it's after nine. I never know. I feel as though if I stay trapped in this house much longer, I really will go fucking insane, in the true sense of the word. A nervous breakdown. Can someone have a nervous breakdown and get overly stressed out, because they have too much silent, alone time on their hands? How can I be stressed when I don't do anything or see anyone all day long? I have to wonder about that. I do get out of the house. I see the chiropractor 3-4 times a week right now, I get a massage once a week from the same lady, every Friday morning I go to my weekly support group, I go to the same dry cleaner 2-3 times a week, I even joined a gym and met with a personal trainer. But, those are not places where I'm going to make a good friend. Those are acquaintances, and there's a huge difference. I am not going to strike up a long talk on a deep subject with the old guy on the treadmill beside me, you know? A doesn't understand why I'm not "meeting" people, and I look at him like he's gone bonkers. Meet people? At the bank? At Target? What, are you kidding? He doesn't get it. He also doesn't work here in the town where we live, he heads off north towards the super big metropolis near where we live. He barely spends any time here in our new "hometown", even on the weekends we go look for entertainment elsewhere. So, he doesn't realize how damn small it is here, and how there is nothing to do, and no one to do it with. My favorite hobbies are even ones I do alone- reading, painting, writing, sewing. Even our subdivision is dead during the day, and if there are people at home they must be deep within the caves of their own houses because I don't see anyone. The house beside us has been empty for six months now, the house on the other side has two white-haired old Germans living there who barely speak English, and across the street is an empty field because no house was ever built on that lot. Behind me are many many acres of woods. I even live on a cul-de-sac at the very very back of the subdivision, how much more isolated can we get? Oh yes, did I mention we are the only subdivision out here, on this long country road? I am surrounded by pastures filled with horses and cows, and a goat farm. That is isolation, truly. Gone are the days when a new family moves in and the neighbors all come over with fresh apple pies and baskets of cookies, to introduce themselves, to have a block party or BBQ. We all have our little cocoons, and most of us stay in them, and rarely do we let anyone in from outside our already long-established circle. I know it will be a long time before I have a good friend here, someone I can meet for coffee on Saturday morning, or go shopping with at lunch, or gab with on the phone at night about what happened in the office that day. Sadly, I am craving that so much right now. I would like to say that I'm basically an antisocial person, but now that I'm alone all day long, I am more miserable than I've ever been in my entire life.

Twenty-Three

I am trying to force myself to feel better about life, since I have a light at the end of the very long, black tunnel that has been my existence in the most recent past. Another round with the therapist this week left me bruised and out of sorts again, but I know I have to go through this more intense pain in order to be rid of the old pain. Make sense? I am trying to work through it. She says that once she releases all of my contracted muscles in my leg and back, I won't need to see her again, this will not be an ongoing therapy. She will either cure me in a few more visits, or cut me loose, she is not going to suck me dry of all my hope and all A's money. I feel myself getting better with every session, but as with all things, I am impatient impatient impatient. Now that I am starting to feel better physically, I am starting to get more stressed out mentally and very frustrated. I don't want to wait another month, another six weeks, I want ALL the pain gone NOW. Only it doesn't work that way, short of some trauma that would leave me paralyzed from the waist down. I don't remember what I was like before I fell into a pit of chronic pain, and I don't think A remembers either because in our years together, the last nearly four have been with me in this state, this mood, this eternal cycle of waking up hating my life and going to bed at night hoping it will be over soon. What scares me the most is that, once I am cured of my physical ailment, will the emotional aspect of it get better as well? With the chronic pain, I have stopped going out of the house much, I do as little moving around as possible, I have given up almost every hobby that I once loved, I gained an excessive amount of weight, I've forgotten about our once hot and passionate sex life, I've gotten in the habit of ignoring my housework due to the pain, I make excuses constantly for being tired and in a pissy mood and not wanting to do things or go places. Once the pain is gone, what will be my crutch? How long will it take before I can lose the weight, initiate sex again, find a job, scrub the kitchen floors, start painting again? How much patience will A have for me then, because he has been insanely patient with me so far, because he says he understands I can't help it, I can't do certain things. Now when I snap at him, I apologize and say I'm sorry I'm just in a lot of pain today, and he is okay knowing that. Once I am pain free, what will I say when I get livid and want to throw something, or storm off and slam a door, when I want to be left alone? Last night I expected A to be gone until late, he has a standing Friday night out with a guy he's been friends with for almost 20 years. I encourage him to go, why should he stay at home like a lump on the couch just because that's what I do? Instead, he was home by 9:30 last night, and instead of being tickled pink to have him home early, I got stupidly disgruntled and not long afterwards I had picked a fight so that I could have an excuse to go on to bed. It left A very confused, and he came in our room later to ask me why I was mad at him. I sighed, kissed him on the cheek and said I wasn't mad, I was just not feeling well and I didn't mean to take it out on him. I love A so much it scares me, but I am also relieved when he is not here, when he has to work late, when he wants to go out with his buddy. I feel like I almost push him out the door sometimes, because I want to be alone, but I am miserable with desire for him the minute he leaves, and I am more lonely but more relaxed at the same time. A is actually younger, but in many ways he has always represented a father figure to me. X was SO immature, despite being older, and so irresponsible that in our 13 years together, I felt the weight and the burden of running the household and paying the bills myself. X was unemployed at least once a year, and although I did take the richer or poorer vows, somehow the fact that he actively enjoyed being unemployed SO much so he could sit at home and stay high, used to piss me off as I went off to work every day. Water under the bridge now, but I grew up in a family where my father worked two sometimes three jobs so my mom could stay home and raise the children. That was my model of a man and a father and a husband. X fell short in almost all of my expectations, which was surprising, because both of his parents were hard-working and self-made millionaires, and he apparently had not inherited any of their drive or determination, or pride. On the other hand, A was raised, poor, on a farm in the country, and he worked hard all of his childhood, he said his parents never let him have a moment of playtime in his entire life. And he is still that way now. The man easily works 60 or more hours a week, and loves it, loves his job, loves his company and everything about it, loves the mere fact that he works. And he earns every penny of his six-figure income. A holds a very high position at his company, he has about 400 employees under him, and he runs about four or more large departments. But he's good at it, which is why he has climbed the company ladder so quickly, and will continue to climb I'm sure. He has ambitious goals in mind, but if he stayed at his current position for another twenty years, I think he'd be happy too. A's whole job is comprised of making decisions all day long, of being responsible, of expecting perfection, of taking no bullshit from his guys, he's a leader and motivator and mentor. Then he comes home to me, a pathetic dinner that he usually has to help prepare and clean up after, a dirty house, litter boxes full of poop, an unmade bed, laundry sitting wrinkled in the dryer for two days, crumbs and dust bunnies all over the hardwood floors. His wife who can barely function, let alone get her ass off the couch and do all that stuff, which for anyone else would be such a simple thing. He says he doesn't care, but I also think he's a damn good liar, because he doesn't want to hurt my feelings so he says it doesn't bother him that there is cat vomit drying in the carpet of his new half-million dollar house, while his wife is sitting right there flipping mindlessly for hours through reruns on the TV. I care too, but I never can seem to will my body to get up and do it. I am revolting. And if I sicken myself that much, how can A not feel sickened at the mere sight of me as well? How?? And as much as I love A, as much as I wish I could spend every waking minute with him, I feel numbing relief when he calls to say he'll be about an hour late for dinner, because that is another hour of my night where I don't feel the burden of being his wife. When he's not here, I can't disappoint him, I can't annoy him, I can't disgust him- he doesn't ever feel those things towards me, but in my head I feel like he should, so I get myself all worked up about my behavior because he is there to bear witness to it (and yet he doesn't judge me for it). Home alone, I just don't give a shit, and no one is here to remind me that I should give a shit. But as soon as he comes through the door I suddenly see all of my flaws, I see the breakfast dishes still sitting in the sink, I remember the clean towels from the weekend that I haven't folded and put away yet, I know he will inevitably ask me how I'm feeling, what did I do that day? Not to point blame, not as in "what the fuck have you been doing all day you stupid lazy bitch?" which is what X would have said. A means it like "hi honey I'm glad to be home to you, did you do anything fun today that we can talk about at dinner?" It doesn't matter, I have nothing to tell him, and instead of saying that, I start trying to make excuses as to why I didn't finish the laundry or clean the toilets. A doesn't really want to hear all of that, he doesn't care, he just wants to come home and know that I'm okay, and he wants to hear that I'm feeling better, and he wants to know that I love him. A would gladly take me out to dinner every night, and take me away every weekend, and get me a maid, if that's what I wanted, because that's how much he dotes on me, that's how much he just wants me to be happy. But, I don't want those things, and how do I tell my husband that being with him, because he's so wonderful, is just a reminder for me about what a failure and a loser I've become. So when he says, hey, Best Friend and I want to go out and drink a few beers, play some pool, but is that okay with you sweetheart because you and I can instead go out and do something just the two of us if you want- I look at him and say, gladly, go out with Best Friend. I want to scream STAY, stay here with me, stay here and keep me company and try to make me happy, but then all I can do is just sit on the couch and zone out, and why should he have to do that too? Even tonight, when Best Friend called him, I told A to go out and have fun, A got as far as his car and while still sitting in the garage called me from his cell phone and said are you sure you don't want to go out with us, we'll have fun- I just said go, I will see you when you get home. On the inside, I was dying, to be with him, to have him be with me, but I just don't want to go or do anything and I'm not going to punish him for that. Most wives bitch because their husbands go out too much, stay gone too late, and I am the polar opposite because I feel bitterness mingled with joy whenever mine wants to go out, and I never say no, never get upset when he calls at 10 to say it'll probably be after midnight when he gets home. I don't care, the later the better, which is what my head is saying as my heart feels the loneliness. Just to get me out of the house, into the sunshine and fresh air, A took me for a ride out in the country today, with the top down in his sports car, and we had a nice lunch on a lake. And on those occasions, while I'm away from the house and alone with him, I really do feel good, back like it was when we were dating and I was happy. But as soon as we got back into the house, the first thing I did was look down at the cat hair on the carpet and start to feel like shit about myself again. Now that A is out for the night with his buddy, I can relax and go back to not caring anymore about anything. Because whenever A is around, all I do is care about him and about our life, when in reality I want an excuse not to feel anything at all. Not even love. Being around A makes me feel more, and I just don't want to.