What did I do when I set my resolution this year? I thought it would be pressure free – happy more than I am sad. I thought, ‘hey, I can do that’. January, thought, has kicked my butt. At this pace I have to spend almost a whole month happy to make up for it. This is a different sad, though. A reflective, how do I fix what’s going on in my head kind of sad.
I am having a lot of issues dealing with not being perfect, not being Super Woman. I feel like I should be able to cook/clean/plan/work/be supportive and still find time for me. Except, well, I can’t. Last night proved that to me in a huge way. I cannot fix (or do) everything. The One is trying to help, but I have a huge problem giving up control. It looks like this is the time when I learn to.
I am scared of his bipolar. So damn scared. I guess, coming from an abused background, that makes sense. I am fearful of anyone angry, and that is a side to his bipolar. How do I let that fear go? That is a big step I have to take for us to continue to work, and really I am clueless as to how to do it. Where do I find the skin thick enough to let his bipolar anger slide away, while loving him through it? It won’t be easy, I know that.
Let’s go on a tangent, you and I. A tangent that shows how horribly I understand mental illness – or maybe just how horribly I accept it. I understand that bipolar is a disease, like kidney disease or anything else. I know that The One cannot help it. I just (still) do not know where to draw the line between what he is responsible for and what his disease is. I am jealous that he gets an ‘excuse’ for his anger/feelings and I do not. We are all fighting a hard battle, why is he any more ‘allowed’ to be sad/angry/whatever than I am? I guess the real answer is that he is not, that he feels responsible for his actions too. It is just very hard for me to hold him to the same standards that I hold myself to because he is ‘sick’. Maybe I should. Maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t know.
I need to find a way to be OK with where I am in life right now, but I just feel like I am a failure. I ‘sent away’ my chance at raising my son (forgive the language, it is the depression talking), I’m going to have to work weekends soon and lose my chance to see my other son. I need two jobs to make it, or at least one that pays me better and maybe works me more than full time. I still live at home with mom. I feed my brother, cannot say no. I drag myself out of bed, hope the odds aren’t stacked against me every day. I come home, go to bed and hope I can make it through the next day. For some people, the good days are the days when they get out of bed and put their feet on the ground. I wish I had that option, to hide away and let my depression eat me. Instead, I HAVE to get out of bed. I have to work. I have to keep going.
Yet I have to let go of being Super Woman.
With Love Always
Me
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