I spent the entire week in the same clothes nonstop. I went four days without a shower, without brushing my hair or teeth. Even, holy crap, withOUT coffee because I couldn't find the energy to even make a single cup. I didn't take J's clothes to the dry cleaners. I didn't do the laundry. I didn't take all my medications. I let dirty dishes and towels and mail pile up everywhere. I didn't clean the cat litter boxes. Because J was due home Friday at lunch, I set my alarm for 5am on Friday and forced myself to get up and clean the house like a frantic wild woman, so he could be duped into thinking it had looked that way all week. I even scrubbed the shower, for which he hugged and kissed and thanked me, because I haven't cleaned it since, well, I can't remember when. Then I had to take a nap, I was mentally and physically exhausted solely from vacuuming. I just hate this feeling. It makes me feel less than human, it makes me feel like the poorest excuse for a wife.
The saddest part is that I didn't even try to do anything that was good for me this week. I didn't go to the grocery store, but instead ate stale bread and old crackers, because it was effortless. I cancelled my regular physical therapy session. I skipped my weekly support group meeting. Hell, I didn't even READ all week. I sent a long rambling email to my best friend, begging off talking to her for awhile. I sent a text to my dad asking that neither he nor my mother call me for a few days, because I wasn't feeling well. My sister had surgery this week and I didn't even reach out to her. That's a pretty shitty week when you actively tell the closest people in your circle, people who love you and care about you, to just please leave you alone because you feel like utter crap. I tried to sound chipper on Facebook, but most of my posts came while I was huddled miserably on the couch or stuck in the bed because I couldn't make myself get the fuck up. I literally was an unmoving, uncaring lump all week.
When J got home on Friday, I was my regular phony-baloney self. Fixed up, dressed, ready to live a normal life. Sometimes I think he sees right through me. Yesterday he asked me if I was still feeling depressed. I said, oh I'm okay, just tired. We really only had Friday evening and Saturday together, but I forced my best smiles and laughter for him. Now it's another six days without him. This current Sunday through Friday schedule ends this week, and then he'll have four days off at home before he starts his next assignment. This morning I asked him if he could stand four days at home with me. Without words he simply gave me a big squeeze and held on tight for a long time, his face buried against my neck. Was he happy at the thought of time together, or just trying to compel me to stop bashing myself?
So which is the real me, my true self? The scraggly-haired dirty person who shuffles through the house, or the woman who gets dolled up to spend time out in the world with her husband? My happiness does not depend on J, I realize that. And I don't blame my depression on his being gone. It started long before he began traveling full time for work. And it continues on weekends when he's back home. It's just that when I'm home alone, I don't have to fight it as much, I have no one to put on a show for. And I don't care enough about myself to do anything about it. But because J loves me, I try so very hard for him.
I vowed I was going to have a better week, because I deserve it. I deserve to be good and kind and loving to myself. As soon as J left this Sunday morning to head off for the week, I showered, fixed myself a lunch, started a load of laundry, and I even put shoes on- glory be. I am determined not to have another wasted screwed up week, to find a purpose and DO something, even if it's take a bag of clothes to Goodwill. I don't care. DO anything. Any god damn little thing for myself. Sometimes just getting started in the morning is enough momentum to carry me through the day, the week.
We were supposed to have a yard sale this coming weekend, but I begged J to postpone it a few weeks. After he capitulated to that, I then begged him even harder to postpone it until the fall. I just don't have the energy for it right now. We had a yard sale in April, and the unsold items are literally piled up on my dining room table and all over the garage, in limbo because we intended to have a second sale so soon after. But I can't stand seeing it all over the place, the unwanted clutter is like an old brick wall, crumbling, untended, constantly threatening to topple over and bury me in debris. I just can't look at it anymore. The old picture frames, coffee mugs, books, paintings, knickknacks, clothes. All the things we've decided we no longer want. By getting J to agree to pushing the sale off another season, I promised myself I was hauling it all down to a corner in the basement, where I can continue adding to it and pricing things, but not in a place where I have to trip over it all.
It takes a lot out of me these days to go up and down the stairs, but even if I make one trip down and have to rest for 30 minutes before I go down again, I have GOT to get all this shit out of the way. It's enough that I have boxes sitting around of stuff to keep and take to the new house. It's enough that I have boxes sitting around of all my pottery and jewelry for the craft shows. It's enough that I have boxes sitting around filled with vintage items for our Etsy shop and antique shows. Now I have boxes sitting around filled with J's artwork for his new Etsy shop. I feel as though my home and my life are in limbo, contained in plastic tubs, scattered all throughout the house. I keep stumbling over everything every day.
J left me with quite a daunting bit of work to do this week, because he's working a craft show in a few weeks. Unless I apply myself every day, as much as I possibly can, I'm not going to accomplish it all. I am tired of disappointing my husband, who works so hard to give me everything, who allows me to stay at home, who encourages me to find my peace and pursue my happiness. The very least I can do is get all his signs sanded down and painted, so he can come home on Friday and see me as his helpmate, instead of the albatross around his neck. He's always there with me when I work a show, and I want to repay him and give him his shot at success. Anything we do, we always do it together, and it takes teamwork for any of our endeavors to become triumphs.
But I've first got to get my head above the water, before I can ever hope to make it out alive to crawl onto shore.
I read an interesting article in the paper today, where someone was asked if they were happy. They said, "You're always stronger if you try to find a positive in something. Because a day is going to come when I'm going to get a phone call...telling me something genuinely bad, and it's going to floor me...And every day that that doesn't happen is a brilliant gift."
My life doesn't suck, I've got to start embracing that realization.
MISS GEE
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