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When one blog is filled, another one must open. |
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Coming soon: more work from someone creative, ambitious, and determined - often called a variant of insane/crazy. Notes: Genderfluid. Preferred pronouns (they/them) [& denotes married couples] Immediate Family: soon-to-be-ex-Dilbert, Tempest, Dogbert My Extended Family: (s)Dad, cousins (K, D, G, J, F, N) I guess it's good to be on speaking terms with someone. Voluntarily. AuntS Dilbert's Extended Family: SIL (+5 kids)& BIL, FIL's gf (only for holidays, mostly) Important People I Don't See Enough: Owl + Partner, Paradise ICON crew (which owl is a part of) People I've Known a Long Time/Long Distance: Doc & [husband], Sheer & DocSheer, Mrs. Light & [husband], Trillium & Diego (not married but close enough), Steph Local People: MotherDroid, Owl&Partner ... There are about to be new people on this list, because, well, I'm evolving. And it hurts. DnD: used letters, S (DM), D(doctor), Y(because I like him!), K(old RPGer friend who also attends church), P(church guy who does game night and is local and our families are also friends), A (went to church but moved back to Chicago, moved back locally then i moved) Tempest's friends: I don't know very many of her local friends. She's got an internet buddy who also talks to CousinK's younger daughter. the younger daughter is DRAMA. Dogbert's friends: Has a new group of friends based on a Pokemon thing and they have a DnD club at school and outside of school. Lucky kid! |
| So, Sheer and DocSheer - had a lovely but weird convo last night about my struggles. It started tangentiallly but then went deep into the rift between Dilbert and me. Somehow it all kept falling out, because Dilbert has been sick and mostly a lump on the couch for two weeks (when he isn't parked in front of the tv he's in my office in a meeting pretending to work), or he has casually exerted himself going up the stairs and having a mild argument and suddenly he's hack/vomiting up a lung in the kitchen sink. I'm fed up with him on several levels, but bc DocSheer is no longer his doctor (nor the kids') she could tell me she may suspect he's on the spectrum. Which really throws me for a loop, because I was on the narcissism and OCD route, but he's not like my friend with OCD (though OCD takes different forms) bc my friend talks about his OCD support group, and how they're different. I would still say some narcissism in there, but ASD takes a different turn and actually does support several things I know about him growing up and being an adult (can you believe I've known him 27 years this fall?) and a few of the pieces might fit better.  I did ask Dilb to go to therapy this year, for himself. Our insurance doesn't really cover couple's therapy unless it relates to the mental health of one of the participants (usually they look at me as the diagnosed and in-therapy one). The biggest problem with being the one in therapy, taking meds, is that all fault is generally assumed to be mine, by both of us. Yes, I'm working to turn that around. It is a very long road when you cannot trust your brain, and figuring out you also can't trust your partner's brain that you had trusted so much when you were younger? Except somewhere I knew i couldn't trust him. It's been more and more apparent over the years, which is one reason I do not confide so many things in him that I should if he were a partner, but he has demonstrated many times he prefers to act as manager of the house and not a partner or even a participant in most ways. My head is still exploding but I'm going to get through this. I'm so overwhelmed I can't even write this week. This cannot pass soon enough. Tempest gets braces next week, and the kids and I all have eye doc appointments within the first week of March. I have left Dilbert to take care of himself for so many things, and he proves again and again that he just cannot. Can't even drive 15 min to pick up Dogbert from dance to save me an hour of driving. Two days in a row. Expects me to bring him food. Can't run the snowblower and also doesn't tell me how to do it. So many little things are just too damn much. |
| The StruggleBus is stuck catecorner in the middle of an intersection, as far as I'm concerned. The kids both had strep last week, and one of them had something else which she may have given to her father, who isn't dealing well with whatever he has (he's been a lump on the couch in the dungeon basement for days, not bothering to do anything that isn't for himself. I had to take him to the doc yesterday, and call for the appointment. His first blood pressure was in hypertensive crisis. HOLY FUCK IT WAS IN CRISIS MODE. Turns out he admits to having two blood pressure medications that he hasn't refilled or gotten a doctor to see him about since the moves in '21. He says his blood pressure isn't an issue when he isn't sick. When I say he's a workaholic running toward an early grave - it's this kind of behavior that makes me think this. (Don't forget my father died one day because he was morbidly obese, didn't see doctors, and one day the blood pressure bomb went off. He was 53. Dilb is currently 46. I hate BMI as a measure, but his is 38.7 if that helps you visualize. I know my father was worse, but... this is still triggering to me.) I realized the writer's course I signed up for was a social justice writing class - and while that is a good thing to push beyond the boundaries, to look through the eyes of other minorities and embrace that - because they are correct. All writing is political, and it is only the privileged writing other privileged that ignores the politicalness of their stories. Or maybe the privileged reading the privileged writing privileged characters. In most cases I think this is actually pretty great for me to see and learn from all these other great writers. OTOH, I have a past that likes to creep into their stories. It's little things that they're trying to have be known, like how white people differentiate in their groups for being Irish or German or British, yet expect entire swaths of brown or black people to be single-cultured "african" or "asian" or the like. And I hear things whispered again that both make more sense and become more layered in what they meant. Also, sadly, it brings up times when I was the excluded one for reasons I maybe didn't know or understand. It's a problem in the Midwest, for sure, especially among the white bread (read white, cishet males) who overwhelmingly populate engineering jobs. To them, I never fit in, I was an affirmative action choice, and never worth what the rest of them were, and yes, one of them even told me I was an affirmative action choice. He wasn't my boss, but no matter what my other strengths - that stung. Sometimes I have to take time off of that class. I think this week is one of them. I feel fragile. Usually one of my best times is going to coach gymnastics, and in the first class I just had the hardest kids (because my coaching partner was out, and I gave the sub my easier class). On the second class, two girl -one fairly new, one who has been incredibly sweet in the past- came up to me. New girl: I want to rip your head off. Second: With a knife. Whatever it is in my brain, I don't process this kind of information quickly. I simply looked at them: If you say things like that, I'm going to think you don't like me. The girls: We like you! It's hard to look for support in my co-coach who is 19. I finished the class (only 10 more minutes) and we went home. Tempest had practice, so I was there with time to think about that, and I felt completely done peopling, but I did mention it to the manager before I left. She's usually not there that late, but I shouldn't have to deal with that, too. I know I'm not an easy coach but I am working to make them better. I've noticed with all of those things in my head, I dive deep into crochet. If you're on my facebook you've seen the different projects. I've also been reading books and finding patterns. Repetitive motion is soothing, especially when my brain is reeling with all of these things. I'm also feeling alone in the writing class. The facebook group is a little dead? I haven't connected with anyone there. I thought about reaching out to the teacher, but I'm not sure how to say that. I'm ready to wave a white flag and I have at least one thing be easier- even if it is just to get the family feeling less sick and able to do what they normally do. |
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