Just Pissy today
I'm just generally irritable today. Last night took my boyfriend to the ER at 12;30 at night and was stuck there till 4am for what turned out to be the stomach flu. The man does this stuff all the time. He is hypervigilent about any little 'off' sensation in his body (and he has a host of what I think are somatic complaints) because he has had serious health issues. Any little thing totally freaks him out and off to the ER we go-usually in the middle of the night and we never seem to spend less than 3 hours there.
I cannot express how much I hate the ER. Hate is not a strong enough word, and neither is detest, despise, or loath. My anxiety shoots through the ever-lovin-roof when I am at that place. I see ghosts of the past everywhere. I walk down the halls and I see three rooms alone where my daughter was in the depths of her psychosis-sometimes for days while I sat helplessly by her bed. I have been to this freakin ER dozens (and that is not an exaggeration) of times for Lee as well, with his seizure disorder and migraines, all the times he's convince there's something terribly wrong with him that requires emergency intervention. Sometimes there has been, but as often as not there has NOT been anything seriously wrong with him.
And of course, I am just supposed to comfort him, and say "It's okay" when they don't find a damn thing wrong with him AGAIN even though going back to that place is so painful, and haunting, and makes me feel like I'm crawling out of the skin as the seconds drag by while I'm sitting in an uncomfortable chair for hours freezing my ass off and barely able to remain conscious because I worked all day (and will have to work the next day). Meanwhile he is laying there with a toasty blanket, I think loving all the attention and charming all the nurses and ruminating about his upset tummy and dizziness, with an IV and all kinds of awesome drugs being pumped into him that allows him to sleep.
And of course I'm a bitch for feeling pissed off that my needs to actually get some sleep, and be home in my cozy bed instead of that place that gives me flashbacks and heart palpitations are second to my hypochondriac boyfriend's need to be reassured he isn't having a stroke or whatever his latest fear of death is, right? And when I lie my ass off and say "It's alright, better safe than sorry" (which is absolutely true BTW, infuriatingly) while I am inwardly fuming and churning with anxiety then I am being unhealthy again, right? Stuffing my feelings again. And the truth is it sucks all the way around. It sucks for Lee that he has these fears, and that he constantly feels unwell, and is fixated on the possibility he could leave this world and the desperation that causes, and it sucks that he's so strong and feels so weak and scared that he wants me there with him. And it sucks that I feel angry about it all, instead of being an endless magical well of compassion and self sacrifice.
Now I have a migraine, probably because of all those feelings of anger I am repressing yet again. And people are getting on my nerves, which just makes me feel more angry and irritated and even less sympathetic. And I just want to go to sleep, but I still have two chapters of my textbook to read and make sure my daughter, Rachel, takes her meds before she goes to bed, before I can even consider sleep. And right now I feel like there's nothing I can do about any of it except just keep pluggin forward, with the anger, the PTSD boyfriend, the schizoaffective daughter, the homework, the fatigue and the headache. Because that is my life. At least at this moment. I hope tomorrow will be better.
I cannot express how much I hate the ER. Hate is not a strong enough word, and neither is detest, despise, or loath. My anxiety shoots through the ever-lovin-roof when I am at that place. I see ghosts of the past everywhere. I walk down the halls and I see three rooms alone where my daughter was in the depths of her psychosis-sometimes for days while I sat helplessly by her bed. I have been to this freakin ER dozens (and that is not an exaggeration) of times for Lee as well, with his seizure disorder and migraines, all the times he's convince there's something terribly wrong with him that requires emergency intervention. Sometimes there has been, but as often as not there has NOT been anything seriously wrong with him.
And of course, I am just supposed to comfort him, and say "It's okay" when they don't find a damn thing wrong with him AGAIN even though going back to that place is so painful, and haunting, and makes me feel like I'm crawling out of the skin as the seconds drag by while I'm sitting in an uncomfortable chair for hours freezing my ass off and barely able to remain conscious because I worked all day (and will have to work the next day). Meanwhile he is laying there with a toasty blanket, I think loving all the attention and charming all the nurses and ruminating about his upset tummy and dizziness, with an IV and all kinds of awesome drugs being pumped into him that allows him to sleep.
And of course I'm a bitch for feeling pissed off that my needs to actually get some sleep, and be home in my cozy bed instead of that place that gives me flashbacks and heart palpitations are second to my hypochondriac boyfriend's need to be reassured he isn't having a stroke or whatever his latest fear of death is, right? And when I lie my ass off and say "It's alright, better safe than sorry" (which is absolutely true BTW, infuriatingly) while I am inwardly fuming and churning with anxiety then I am being unhealthy again, right? Stuffing my feelings again. And the truth is it sucks all the way around. It sucks for Lee that he has these fears, and that he constantly feels unwell, and is fixated on the possibility he could leave this world and the desperation that causes, and it sucks that he's so strong and feels so weak and scared that he wants me there with him. And it sucks that I feel angry about it all, instead of being an endless magical well of compassion and self sacrifice.
Now I have a migraine, probably because of all those feelings of anger I am repressing yet again. And people are getting on my nerves, which just makes me feel more angry and irritated and even less sympathetic. And I just want to go to sleep, but I still have two chapters of my textbook to read and make sure my daughter, Rachel, takes her meds before she goes to bed, before I can even consider sleep. And right now I feel like there's nothing I can do about any of it except just keep pluggin forward, with the anger, the PTSD boyfriend, the schizoaffective daughter, the homework, the fatigue and the headache. Because that is my life. At least at this moment. I hope tomorrow will be better.
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