June 5, 2010

Hiding: Day 50 -- How Doth He Love Me

Seems even isolated here in my old bedroom in Leesville, I can't escape the pain of being. My body is arranged in just the environment I need -- calm, quiet comfort -- but my head is still sick.

And 4.5 more days until I can drag myself into the psychiatrist's office to ask for some relief.

Had a migraine since before the sun came up. Not sure why. Had biscuits and gravy for breakfast, chili for lunch. Even a half cup of coffee. Some o.j. with breakfast, buttermilk with lunch. Slept most of the day. Tried sitting up with Mom and Stepdad in the afternoon, but they had a visitor, and tried thumbing through mail order catalogs for a while but that ended up stressing me out for some reason. So I came back to bed and have been wrestling with this headache ever since.  That, and more crying. The pain of that makes me so sick I don't even want to write about it, but to be general, thinking about the vicious cycle of wanting to be loved but pushing them (him) away, needing him but not wanting to need him and not trusting he sincerely CARES anyway.

How sad is that.


I wonder, how long would it be before he'd miss me if we were apart? I mean, truly miss me? I think he has such an apathetic approach to life. It's like he experiences no emotion.

He once told me he rarely feels anything and is never "happy." At the time, he was describing what he thought might be Depression, but out of context, it's true -- it seems he is never happy or excited about anything. Especially nothing related to me.

Not a good time for me to be mulling over all this, since now is prime time for internalization and self-blame.


Have played solitaire for solid hours this evening. Have even researched the connection between solitaire and Depression. The game helps so much to keep my brain active and focused and OFF the tormenting thoughts, which have taken a turn down those paths I've locked away and made permanently off-limits in my mind -- namely, his past transgressions, real, imagined, and every degree in between.

I would drag him off to marriage counseling if I were already being treated. Going now would be like trying to form a puzzle picture with pieces from a motorcycle, a radio, maybe a few items from the closet, a big blue ball, and Scotch tape. (????)

He sent me a photo of a bouquet of flowers he and Priss picked up for me while grocery shopping last night. In my favorite color. And it made me cry.

Ensuing Thoughts in Order:
1. I am so loved, more than I must know.
2. I am so loved, and so undeserving.
3. Maybe it was an impulse buy that was more of an afterthought and really didn't have anything to do with me.
4. Maybe it was a peace offering or some kind of compensation for a guilty conscience.
5. These thoughts are ridiculous. I'm crazy and don't deserve flowers.
6. Flowers = sadness.


I took a melatonin, hoping it would knock me off the solitaire thing, but the only reason why I'm stopping now is because the phone battery is about to die, it's 12:25 AM, and I have to pee. Otherwise, I'd keep playing until I passed out. Certainly better than going to sleep to possibly face awful, awful dreams.


4:30 AM. Disturbed by a dream I had that he somehow ended up with an invitation to some kind of business symposium, so he dressed up in a suit a pretended to go as a business entrepreneur. When it was his turn to introduce himself, he said he was into porn distribution and sales.

Then, a couple in the chair next to him started making out, then screwing, and he was trying to look away but couldn't help himself. Then suddenly everyone in the symposium was coupled up and copulating except him, but then some lady came over to him and he left with her. I ran to the airport trying desperately to get a ticket out of there but couldn't.

Then I dreamt I was trying to run him a bath, but Priss told me, "Gran is the only one who can run him a bath the way he likes it." I was so hurt. He didn't seem at all willing to tell me how to take care of him but was perfectly happy to have me remain inadequate.

And still fixating on him and imagining him noncommittal and indulging in all sorts of borderline vices I'll never know about. Usually, I can ignore the possibility and leave his sin (real or imagined) in his lake of sin (real or imagined) and separate myself from it, compartmentalize that in him, and live. But this Depression has destroyed all my coping mechanisms and left me defenseless against all these horrible thoughts.

So I end up resenting phantoms, reacting to apparitions, which sends me into a suppressed rage and perpetuates the bitter cycle of self-loathing.

There are even times when I feel like suggesting we separate.


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