A conversation with me

Me: “What are you doing. You have work to do! Work you should be grateful for. Plus you need it, the sooner you finish, the sooner you get paid. plus you have another book waiting for when you finish this one. So you need to be responsible about that. What are you doing, reading blogs.”

Me: “It’s important. I like relating to people, and people in my life don’t share a lot… or maybe there aren’t as many people in my life to share with, not with me. I love reading people who are being honest and out there and speak of their pains and struggles or just nice things”

Me: “That’s fine I understand it’s important but do it later! In the afternoon, when kids are awake and you get sleepy so you can’t work anymore anyway”

Me:”I know, I should. I don’t know why, I want to read now”

Me: “Now what are you doing. you’re writing?? Why? You’re wasting time!”

Me:”I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. I just need to right now. Plus the little girl is coming over to stay on Sunday. And my son’s girlfriend, for the first time. And the Saturday before two very dear friends are coming over and we normally drink a lot and I am worried I won’t be very alert and awake on the Sunday but I worry they would get offended if I say I’d rather they didn’t come. Plus they have to bring my husband’s big desk, and we need that so we can get rid of computers on the dinner table. And I don’t know if our inflatable double bed is broken or not, and we don’t have a pump…”

Me: “Ohh Val just don’t think about that now! Just get some work done!”

Me: “Yes I know, you’re right, I must. I’ll just finish this off. There is something I wanted to write”

Me: “What? Just write it then, stop beating about the bush, just write it and get back to work!”

Me: “Yes, you’re right. I think it was that it’s a drag to be me. People are so nice here, so easy going. Come over, no worries, for me everything is a worry. I have to think of so many things. It makes me very tired. I can’t stop. It would help if I could talk to my husband more. But he’s exasperated. He still cares, I think, but his caring has become tolerance. Understanding has become not getting angry with me. But he never talks to me, we never talk.”

Me: “I’m sure that’s not true”

Me:” He would say it’s not true, then he’d get mad at me for saying it. I wish he wouldn’t get mad at me for saying that we can’t talk, that I can’t talk to him, because I can’t, partly because he gets mad when I say I can’t talk to him! Then sometimes he asks why I can’t and if I have a feeling that he’s not being rhetorical or argumentative but actually means the question I seek courage and I start to tell him and that makes him mad. The timing is wrong, not in the morning, my best time. Not over breakfast, another good time. We are separate. He gets mad if I speak about our problems. He doesn’t think we have problems. Our problem according to him is that I am unstable, anxious, and I need a diagnosis. That is already much better than before, when his solution to all our problems was “stop being such a bitch and you’ll see how everything is wonderful with us”. Of course he would now say he never meant that. No, he would say he never said that. So if he doesn’t remember saying it, he never did. Or if he did, he didn’t mean it. He is now so reassured about my outbursts, because he thinks they are all irrational and untrue, just the result of my anxiety, my wavy depression, my possibly undiagnosed BP. If I say that we don’t communicate, that I feel unloved, or loved for the wrong reasons, in the wrong way, or that I need more, he is now all happy because he sees no fault in himself, the fault is all in my chemistry. If I ever do overcome all the obstacles, the bad reception, the having to call at 8 to see a new doctor and start the whole diagnosing thing again, if I do get a diagnosis, how much credit will he give to anything I say then? It will all be “It’s the illness talking. My poor, beloved, wife, pat pat. It’s not her fault, it’s the chemistry. But more importantly, it’s not my fault, I do nothing wrong”. That’s what he would think.

Me: “You are overthinking everything. Just stop right now, get your work done”

Me: “There is so much more I need to say, I need to talk about, and so much I wish I could just shovel up with my hand like mud filled all sorts of crap from the garden and shake off and dump somewhere, out of my brain and into a gutter. I bore myself witless and I can’t stop.”

Me: “Stop, now, post if you need to to get it out, don’t think of possible judgers. Don’t think about who could read and think “I used to think she was smart, funny, clever, she really doesn’t seem like it anymore”.

Me: “I never was. I always over-thought, everything I always did was accompanied with heaps of thoughts, contradictions, maybes, pain, joy, hope, adventure, tragedy, drama. Everything and anything. I don’t mean moving countries. I mean going out for a drink with someone”

Me: “I know. But now. Stop everything. Get back to work. Be grateful for your work. Be grateful for your lovely house and kids and husband and animals and surrounding countryside and how lovely and friendly the Derbyshire people are. And just work”

Me: “Ok.”

Dark clouds dissipate under the threat of a cheerful and gentle blue sky.
Dark clouds dissipate under the threat of a cheerful and gentle blue sky.

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