exhaustion prevails

he's an undefeated foe

i'm the underdog.

I wake up in the morning with two symptoms I dislike:  nausea and chest pain.  The chest pain is a tightness that's due to stress and the nausea is from the medication that's meant to lessen the stress.  I find this irony almost unbearable - the quest to find mental peace constantly interrupted.

 anxiety - breathe

a moment to step away

evaluate this.

So it's weird knowing, once you know.  I sit in meetings now, my heart racing, my mind spinning, and I'm asking myself, "is this anxiety or is there a real reason to feel this way?"  which, btw, causes some more anxiety.  Yesterday I was out for a walk and feeling exhausted - and KNEW it was my depression, KNEW it was my brain, but still felt it in my bones like I'd already been walking for years.  

This is not pleasant.

The basement looks like a bomb went off, and I'm super sad about losing the beautiful stone work fire place down there.  It pains me, but it had to be done.  I'm so tired of the constant whirling of fans and dehumidifiers, and long for the quiet my house once provided  My husband and I each got bonuses this month, that essentially pay for the basement issues, and not the kitchen we were both hoping for.  Life goes on.

This is day 5 of being on medication.  I feel nauseous every morning, but it goes away. It will be another two weeks or so until anthing different happens with my brain.  

the pain in my chest

and the extreme exhaustion

not the change of life.

An update to yesterday's post.  I called a medical professional and chatted for nearly an hour with a nurse practitioner.  I took an anxiety survey, depression survey, a bunch of other mental health things - and then we had a good chat about burnout.

Mine is likely caregiver burnout with a touch of the career burnout, tucked in.

My anxiety is high - it hasn't bothered me in a long time - and my depression is low-to-medium, likely caused by the anxiety.  I have bloodwork scheduled, a pyschologist scheduled, and some online work doing CBT.  I'm changing my diet, re-looking at meditation, and taking this seriously.

The NP said that I've gone so long dealing with stress, that she thinks my brain is likely depleted of serotonin.  It's why i'm tired and likely why I no longer give a fuck.  It's why I always feel like something bad is going to happen.  It's why I can't stop thinking about something even worse happening.  

I feel - stupid? - that I didn't know.  That I excused it as other things and didn't realize how this was going.  I feel like I should have seen this, staring at me.  But it explains why I was angry at the "compartmentalizing" comment, and why I lost it yesterday. 

Ah, well.. time to replace my serotonin, change some habits, and get back to normal.

 tears, pressure building

i hate the word, triggered, but

my heart is wounded.

So I'm sitting at my desk, in a meeting.  My heart is pounding, my face is flushed.  I'm a fucking hot mess after a bad meeting this morning.  We took a burnout test and my results were "severely at risk of burnout - do something now".  

Do WHAT?

Fuck.

So here I am, chest pains.  Faking it.  Knowing I need to deal with my stress and handle this feeling of burnout, but no clue how.  I don't want to exercise or cook more meals or take longer walks.  What I want is for people to see what i'm being asked to do and stop asking me for more.  I want someone else to maybe catheterize my husband twice a day and let me take a few days off.  I need to stop feeling like I'm drowning.  I want to stop having to ASK people to do their jobs.  I want to stop having my ass handed to me when I make an assumption because I'm too fucking tired to chase people who are making 70 grand a year.

I need a break.

 heart muscles, tighten

ears, my pulse is audible

the stress takes over.

I'm tapping out.  The flood last week has been all consuming - losing all the flooring and some of the walls, the repairs to be made to the drainage system, not having a furnace, and the constant whirs of fans like sinister white noise.  

That, and I'm turning 50.

That, and my son called from outside Orlando last night - after being in an accident with his big truck. He's fine, and he wasn't at fault, but the stress of that and everything else had me imagining a different scenario and succumbing to the stress that has been bubbling up for a week.

That, and I'm tired of my mom putting little hearts all over my brother's gf's cheesy ass posts but not looking at mine.  "they are too political".  Well, sorry I'm smart.  Sorry I'm not a skinny, stupid bitch.  Sorry I think - and sorry I'm not pretending to be something other than I am.  Sorry, sorry, sorry.  My smug mother even pretended she didn't know who my aunt was "oh, I don't have a sister in law with that name, but your dad does" and then proudly tells me that my father wrote off his sister - just like my brother did.  

I should take some time off work.  Walk.  Relax.  I can do that while working, though, too, and so I just continue on and hope for the best.  God, I'm so tired.

the sun, bright and young

bursts through branches with such force

shadows on my lawn

Two weeks.

As someone looking back on *almost* 50 years of living, there is something that continues to amaze me - the human capacity to continue believing something stupid no matter what facts or arguments they are faced with.  And their seamingly endless capacity to argue the truth, over and over and over again, to continue the luxury of not changing what they think.

Obviously, anyone that knows me knows I am talking about religion broadly.  But this truth, this light of forceful sunshine, can be found everywhere.  I found it last evening, in a conversation.

I had a very meaningful conversation yesterday with a group of ladies I like and admire.  The conversation felt good, felt cathartic, even though I was largely a spectator of it.  However, this morning I woke and in those moments between waking and being awake, I realized that I had kind of accepted something as my issue that is not my issue.

The conversation was around trust.  And how trust had broken down and how we need to fix it.  Yes.  But there was something around us needing to trust and explore it, and not much around the person who had broken our trust or our right not to trust someone.   That questioning whether or not someone was truly at capacity was about us not trusting, and not about them not demonstrating what they're doing.  Even when we ask.

I'm.. exhausted.  Perhaps there was some truth in what we discussed - it's not my problem.  I can just trust and hpoe for the best. 

 turning fifty soon

I slip on my pastel pants

and pour myself tea.

I'm turning fifty in 19 days.  I crochet now.  I have bird feeders and know the types of birds who eat.  I put the woodpecker food and the cardinal food in different places so I can enjoy both birds.  I research ancestry.  I wear sari skirts and funky boots and do not give one flying fuck what people think of me.

Yesterday, I had a shift at the mission.  I wanted to wear something with pockets (phone) and looked.  I had crop pants (I work from home, yo) and sweat pants (same), and found a pair of blue jeggings and several dress pants.  I picked the jeggings and went through my tees and sweaters - and I.. just don't know how to dress anymore.  

 his temper tantrum

empowers karma to teach

while i sip my tea

Last night, he watched the game.  During the game I caught up on emails, washed and dried dishes, did laundry, made my bed, put the dogs out, and laid out his clothes for this morning.  I was tired, as the clock pushed ten o'clock, and I used the lift to get him into bed, and then catheterized him, and shut off the light.  All that was left was for me to put on my pajamas and brush my teeth.

And then he remembered a report he didn't send and wanted me to bring him his computer, his glasses, and his phone.  All in different spots.  And I pushed back.  It was ten, I was tired, and he was in bed.  Angry.  Demanded.  Pleaded - there was an audit, he had to do the report.  I was ticked, and tired, and got his stuff but was rude about it.  Clearly unimpressed, and tired of always having to do something for someone else and not being able to just go to bed when I'm tired.

He was furious that I pushed back and was frustrated with him.  He got so angry that he threw his work laptop and broke it.  Threw his phone, and threw his glasses.  I picked up the glasses, and told him to stop throwing shit I bought, or he'd get Hakim glasses next time.   

I get it is frustrating to have to ask.  But it's just as frustrating to be with a five year old that can't hear no.  I'm sorry your stupid report didn't get done during the nine hours you sat in your office, but that doesn't make it my issue.  And throwing your laptop didn't get it done, either.  I should have just gone to bed.

This morning, he gets to call and see about getting a new laptop.  He mentioned he'd have to go to Ajax.  I didn't say so, but I hope he knows that's a wheeltrans thing.  

 edges, sharpening

like feathers, plumping with cold, 

breathe in and breathe out

On Friday, we had a meeting with our team.  It was a great meeting and we got a lot accomplished.  We connected, were honest, and I feel really good about that.  Our manager took a moment to say how proud of us he was, especially me, after a very tough meeting the day before.  Amoung friends, he commented that sometimes people are offended by my edginess and that I had taken the effort to give good foodback without any edge.  It was a nice moment.

But it.. bothered me all weekend.

And this morning, I started to cry and really work out what's bothering me.  Here it is:

• It's not people, broadly, it's people, narrowly.
• No one would ever call out a man for being smart and sarcastic.  In fact, I've heard it called a "mic drop" when men do the same fucking thing.
• I'm kind.  
• I never take the credit.  I always bring my team or others with me.  I always recognize their work, no matter how minimal I think it was.  
• And the management of my team STOOD BY while someone took all the fucking credit for a large piece of work I did.  Didn't speak up, didn't correct, and didn't recognize me for the work or my kindness in just letting it happen.
• Two people who are edgy - like "nearly got in a fistfight and screaming at one another" edgy BOTH got promoted in the last year.
• I'm exhausted - always doing the right thing, lending a hand, managing things I shouldn't manage because others are tired - and there's no recognition for that.

Yeah, so this morning I'm really questioning why I'm trying to be so damn resilient and always propping up others, because it seems to be that's all for naught when a middle aged woman dares to have an informed, thoughtful question and is smart enough to make jokes.

barely nine o'clock,

i do this to myself, and

never get to sit.

Somehow, I managed to agree to make 2 lasagnas today - one veggie, one meat - even though I'm volunteering for four hours in the afternoon, have to get bob ready for his PSW, need to finish up some wayward laundry, and would have liked to chillax a bit more.

And so, instead of starting my plethera of chores, I'm blogging.  Watching twitter.  Having a conversation on messenger.  And sort of seeking out a decent recipe for vegetarian lasagna.

memory lane's walk

it feels like a vacation

there has been much love

Yesterday was the 20th anniversary of our first date.  Crazy.  And as we ate a delicious meal from our favourite restaurant, with a table lit by a candle, we talked about our favourite trips, our favourite memories, and all the things we want to continue holding dear.

It's funny what we both remember, and don't remember.  One of my favourite trips with the kids is our trip to NS, where we rented a cottage on the ocean and played all week in the tides and the red sand, the cold water tickling our feet.  We did day trips to parks, saw some friends, and read and drank.  The kids, generally, were well behaved and for being on the ocean, I don't remember fretting about them getting hurt (probably because it was cold).

He barely remembers that trip - it's lost for him in a sea of other NS memories - the camping trips taking a far more precious place with him.  Some of those memories I like, but others are clouded by rain and dirt and cooking over fires and I don't quite love them the way he does.

His favourite memories are trips to the zoo and ROM, eating out with the kids, and day trips.  Mine are the pajama days we spent in the basement watching trilogies.  We purposely did not talk about the bad:  the endless court cases, our son's mental illness and behaviour, Bob's worsening disease.

It's refreshing to my spirit to remember only the good right now, and to hold it close.  So much is changing, I'm glad we have those memories.

 listening, I feel

empowered to understand

why he's not talking

I'm sitting at my desk - as I typically do in the mornings before my breakfast or shower.  I answer emails, plan my day, and otherwise try to figure out the approach I will take.  And whilst doing so, I listen to my husband and his PSW chat.

His PSW was off for a few days and got tested for Covid.  My husband is waxing poetical about the threat of covid.  About how he was worried, finding out his PSW was off sick, that perhaps his presumed bladder infection was more than a bladder infection, and that he should have listened to me (he didn't say that part, I added it) and go for a covid test last week.  But he didn't, and allowed himself to be placated that it was just a UTI, and then had to think about the myriad of folks he might have infected, by not checking.

And the bigger question is - why is he chatting about this, so open in his thoughts and interested in opinions, when he is no longer this way with me.   That's what prompted our fight last night - his compartmentalizing things when I need him to not - angry that I'm anti-organized religion and that I'm bringing it up while he's drawing or while he's watching the game.  I'm sorry I only have crises when it's inconvenient.

Choose a word to describe yourself.  Inconvenient.  

I'm the nurse and maid and cook.   I do his bidding.  He loops me in where he thinks I might be helpful - coaching his team or asking performance questions.  He argues even the smallest details with me, to the point where I become weary speaking with him or full of anxiety.  I miss the introspective, funny man who used to share his inner most thoughts.  Now he speaks to me in sentence-commands:  i have a meeting starting.  i thought you were bringing my shake.  why are we doing this now?   i'm out of prune juice.

This morning he tried to link my refusal to deal with organized religion - because of my past, the abuse, the hatred, the endless ruination - with amazon shopping.  How leaders at amazon have probably manipulated or lied or ruined or abused pepole - and yet we still use the service.  I stood there, thoughts shouting loudly, and said I didn't quite get his point and would he like a coffee? 

Maybe it's me that has made this relationship transactional.  

 so flipping angry

parts of me still missing, from

the theft of my soul

I started a fight tonight about organized religion.  I'm so sick of it.  Propping up Trump, misleading children, making people stupid.  But not my husband.  He's convinced it's mostly good people doing good things and just flawed, sometimes.

We both said things we can't take back.  I don't even want to.

 there were, I suppose

tiny hints along the way

that i overlooked.

There was an argument here yesterday.  My husband does intermittent fasting (I gave it up after 3 or 4 months - having seen no results and spending each and every of my mornings thinking about food) and I do not.  He eats between 12 and 8 every day.  I eat normally, and try to eat as fuel and conciously.  

Yesterday, he had his shake - which is peanut butter, almond milk, spinach, banana, and his cocktail of seeds and stuff that helps his bowls.  I then made myself a tortilla with ham, cheese, and salsa.  An argument ensued.

Apparently, me making myself a nutritious lunch is triggering his lack of self-discipline and creating so much fomo for him that he's over eating and gaining weight.  I need to be more supportive.  Upon inspection of this concept - support - what he means is going back to IF, and starving all the fucking time, and eating shakes even tho i do not like them or find them filling.  My answer was that he needs to get his shit together and figure himself out.

I'm sorry, but I don't need to alter my eating or change the foods I like because you want to do both your diet and mine. 

Sometimes, life is just annoying.

 everyday, challenge

broken and misunderstood

why can't all survive?

I'm sitting at my desk, listening to the Fray's How to Save a Life.  When I was younger and watching 90210, there was a scene where Brenda was listening to Losing My Religion and someone asked why and her response was, "this song was playing during a really hard time in my life, and I recovered, so when I'm sad I listen to it to know I'll get through this".  

How to Save a Life is my sad-song.  My it's-okay-to-cry song, my "what the fuck is wrong with this entire fucking life" song.  It wasn't playing when I sat in a car with Mark after his grandfather died and we had a get real conversation, but it feels like it was.  It was the moment I was I could reset to, some days.  I remember the song when he died, when Jonah died, when my friend's child died.. it's that song for me.

There's another song, too.  Worlds Apart by Jars of Clay.  It's my "why can't I believe in God anymore?" song.    When what I feel and what I believe are worlds apart.  

My aunt is in the hospital with Covid.  She's 76.  It seems old, but when I was 30, 50 seemed old and I turn 50 in less than 2 months so I'm kinda worried about the whole how old is old thing.

If you're reading this, send her good thoughts.  She means a lot to me.

 some days are harder

lungs filled with anxiety

afraid to breathe in

I had an anxiety attack last night.  It's been coming for a week, I think, but I hoped I could tamp it down like I do the grinds of coffee before making espresso.  I few my feelings like that, can I push them down to make room for what needs to fill my day, creating espresso for others instead of a mess for myself.

I don't do anxiety well.  When the grinds refuse to be tamped, and take up too much space, and the water still sprays in - the mess is incredible.  Feelings and tears and a racing heart.  Amusing antidote:  my heart raced so bad that my fitbit recorded it as exercise and started "celebrating" near the end of it.  YAY me, reaching my fitness goal by falling apart.    And I didn't quite "fall apart" - the image I would share is tamping coffee grinds down to make espresso.  When things are tidy you can tamp your emotions into a container, in advance of the spray, and make a nice, smooth drink for those around you.  Last night was more like coffee grinds blowing all over the kitchen in a spray of hot water - making a mess we'll have to clean up this morning.   No drink to enjoy - just a very hot mess.  

I'm not looking forward to cleaning up the mess.

And so, I sit at my desk, pretending normal and watching a very fat bird eat from our feeder.

having a hard time

knowing what i know, and yet

i'm not in your life

Cancer.  My brother finds out at 2 p.m. today if he has cancer again.  I only know because it was part of his "fuck off" message to my niece that she showed me.. hers being more manipulative than the mulitple exclamation mark one i got.

I'm at my desk, working, but my brain is somewhere else.  Reviewing texts.  Reviewing a life.  So freaking sad and so freaking angry all at once.  Trying to decide if I'd do the same thing.  If I could possibly love someone that my children hated - and push everyone away.  I don't think so.

 he bought me sweet tarts

and it made me laugh; comfort

is knowing you're loved.

I'm not a fan of the candy, per se, but I'm a fan of being known.  Sweet tart is sort of my personality - powdery pressed sugar aside.  He bought those, knowing I'd laugh, and that's enough, sometimes.  Knowing that you're known.

Just like yesterday he would have preferred to go with me on my walk but he knew I needed to be with a female friend, and process my day by walking down a path and seeing deer and watching as day became dusk and dusk became evening.  He knew that as much as I love him, sometimes walking with him is not easy, and sometimes I'm looking for easy.

Today, as I sit at my desk and begin my workday - I feel loved and understood.

 the voice in the dark

is his - soft, warm, calling out

can you move my legs?

So, like many women across the globe, I too get to nurse the man child back to health.  And don't get me wrong, a UTI is no laughing matter and he has every right to be grumpy and blunt.  But it sucks, and I'm back to work, and at 6:46 in the morning I did not deserve or want to have an argument about my sterilization of a glass jar.  And yet.  We did.

I'm at my desk now.  Back here like the last ten days never happened - that my gentle schedule of up, coffee, walks, video games, and crochet was just a dream.  Remnants remain - in the recycling that isn't outside yet, a wine bottle stands proud and empty, and a half-consumed bag of doritos flaunts herself shamelessly.  

I'm struggling with some mom-guilt and some mom-fury this morning.  My middle boy - the business owner and moody one - is not staying here at the moment.  He thinks covid is a bit stupid and refuses to curb his visiting of friends.  So with a medically fragile husband, I had to make the call to ask him to leave.  He stayed with a friend, went up north with another friend to see his father, and then stayed with that friend's mother last night when he returned.  Since Wednesday, he's stayed with at least 8 people in four households - and that's not counting here, before we asked him to leave.  Yikes.  So I feel some mom-guilt about that, and some mom fury finding out how many of those people (1 of them a paliative nurse!) let it happen, and that he did mushrooms with his father.  

Bob says my ex is "a toddler" and just does whatever he feels like doing in the moment - but seriously.  How do I deal with this?  Our youngest lives on the street and uses drugs and alcohol to deal with his mental illness and now my middle guy - the business owner and emotionally scarred from our fighting son - uses mushrooms as therapy and does so with his dad.

I'm tired of being the only grownup.  Covid is real.  Mushrooms are not therapy.  My children's father is a hot mess and turning my son into one.  All of this while I give suppositories and catheterize my husband and make meals and shovel the driveway and work long hours as a learning professional.  Ugh.

buttery shortbread

tastes best when shared. he assures

my package of love.

A christmas stocking is not complete without some Walkers shortbread.  Don't get me wrong, there's some amazing shortbread companies out there - but at Christmas, I want the walkers.  Bob always finds some for me, and we share it as we transition out of the holidays and back into real life.  It's the last Sunday of our "vacation".  Tomorrow, we're back at work.

I grumble and complain a lot in this blog.  Unintentional.  I think it's the only place I can really share all the ugly feelings I have, though.  The stress, the worry, the fucking resentment and frustration.  Everywhere else I'm the paver - paving his way, making sure nothing is a big deal, slapping on smiles or advocating for him.  I'm a super-great wife, in my own opinion. 

Today was a rough start to a day - it involved more body fluids than it had a right to, escalating into pain and doctor's virtual visits and a run to the pharmacy.  He's still in pain - but decreasing down into discomfort.  2 p.m. on a Sunday before returning to work and I'm blogging, thinking about a walk, and trying not to worry.  I'm not looking forward to his bedtime routine, tonight, not that I ever do - but tonight especially.  Sticking a tube up someone's wiener is brutal enough without an infection attached.

I ordered some driveway salt and wiper blades today from a local big box store that I happen to work at.  Waiting for that to come in since my wipers fell apart the other day and it's snowing here and I hate driving our wheelchair van.  Nothing says "life is not worth living" like a 13 year old beige wheelchair van.  Functional, yes.  Fun, no.

What's with employee engagement?

I looked at my email and saw I was invited to a 90 minute session on health and wellness to improve my engagement.  I've no words to describe how badly misunderstood I feel right now.